Chapter 9 - Sarah's Secret
Margaret did not deny Richard existed.
She denied knowing he was involved.
“He was born after Sarah left home,” she explained.
Wade stared at her across a hospital conference table.
“You're telling me Sarah had a brother she never mentioned?”
“She barely knew him.”
Richard was Charles Collins's child from a second marriage.
He was twenty-four years younger than Sarah.
By the time he became an adult, Sarah had cut almost every connection to the Collins family.
Richard inherited part of the family business.
And apparently the family appetite for control.
“Where is he?” Wade asked.
“I don't know.”
Detective Brooks answered.
“We do.”
Everyone looked at her.
“He checked into a hotel two miles from here.”
Wade stood.
“Sit down.”
“I want to talk to him.”
“No.”
“Detective—”
“Sit.”
Wade reluctantly obeyed.
Brooks explained that police did not yet have enough evidence to arrest Richard.
Being near the NICU was suspicious.
Not illegal.
“We're investigating.”
Wade hated those words.
People who had lost something often hated waiting more than anything else.
Kayla remained quiet.
Finally, she asked Margaret, “Did Grandma know about the trust?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“She wanted you to have a normal life.”
Kayla laughed bitterly.
“Great job.”
Margaret lowered her eyes.
“There is something else.”
Wade sighed.
“There always is.”
“Sarah wrote another letter.”
“To Kayla?”
“No.”
Margaret looked at Wade.
“To you.”
Wade stopped breathing.
Margaret reached into her handbag.
The envelope was old.
His name was written across the front.
Wade recognized the handwriting immediately.
His fingers trembled when he took it.
“You've had this?”
“Sarah gave it to me before she died.”
“Four months ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you waited?”
“She asked me to wait until Kayla found you.”
Wade stared at the envelope.
“Why?”
“Read it.”
He did not.
Not there.
He put it inside his jacket.
That night, he sat alone beside Samuel.
Kayla had fallen asleep in the family room.
I was completing charts when I saw Wade open the letter.
He read slowly.
Once.
Then again.
His shoulders began shaking.
I almost walked away.
Instead he called my name.
“Emily.”
I approached.
He handed me the letter.
“Read the last paragraph.”
I hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded.
Sarah had written:
Wade, I spent most of my life believing I was protecting Kayla by keeping our past buried. The truth is simpler and uglier. I was afraid. My father lied to us, but eventually I learned enough to know you had never abandoned me. By then Kayla was eleven. I told myself contacting you would destroy her stability. Maybe that was another excuse.
I looked at Wade.
He pointed lower.
The final lines were harder.
I know about the night Elizabeth died. I know you never forgave yourself. But I forgave you before sunrise. I hope someday you will understand that one terrible night does not erase every day you loved her.
Wade covered his eyes.
For twenty-seven years, he had punished himself.
Sarah had forgiven him before he had even learned she was supposedly dead.
I handed the letter back.
“There’s more,” he whispered.
The postscript.
If Kayla ever finds you, tell her the truth about me. Not the beautiful version. Tell her I was scared. Tell her I made mistakes. And then please do what I couldn't.
Stay.
Wade folded the letter.
He looked at Samuel.
“I can do that.”
At 2:06 a.m., the hospital lost power.
Emergency generators activated within seconds.
But during those seconds, darkness swallowed the NICU.
Alarms screamed.
Nurses moved.
Emergency lighting flickered on.
I ran toward Samuel's bed.
His incubator was there.
The monitors were working.
But the chair beside it was empty.
Wade had been there moments earlier.
Then I heard Kayla scream from the hallway.
“Dad!”
We ran.
Wade lay near the stairwell door.
Unconscious.
May you like
Blood on his temple.
And the security badge clipped to his gown was gone.
