The interview went well, all things considered. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself and be heartbroken if they call next week and tell me they’ve offered the contract to the other candidate.
Unfortunately, my hopes are already up. This new contract would not only fill the gaps in my schedule, but it would also bring in enough cash to considerably pay down the mortgage Lane and I carry on this house. Something I stress about every month, even though we’ve never struggled to make the payment.
It’s a ridiculous fear, but it exists nonetheless. And it’s why I’m halfway up the stairs to Lane’s office before I realize what I’m doing. Again.
The rational part of my brain knows that looking over the spreadsheets he created with a bunch of different payment projections isn’t going to alleviate the pressure in my chest, but maybe it’ll distract me from thinking about the interview for a bit.
I drop into his chair and open the drawer where he keeps our personal files, but the ‘Mortgage’ slot is empty.
“Where the heck did you put it?” I mutter to myself, quickly flipping through the other sections in case he misfiled it. Everything else seems to be in order, so I move to the big drawer on the other side of the desk. I don’t usually touch this side, knowing it’s where he keeps personal client information when he’s working from home. However, he worked from home the other day, right after we discussed the spreadsheets he’d printed out, so chances are it’s where he misplaced them.
I flip through the files, looking for the familiar blue folder, when I land on hanging file with a single envelope lying at the bottom.
An envelope that clearly has my name scrawled across the front.
In messy, masculine handwriting that looks nothing like Lane’s.
I never intended to nose through his desk, but seeing my name on something that almost appears to be hidden away has me snatching it up without hesitation.
Looking closer, it’s definitely not Lane’s handwriting, even on his worst day. But it isn’t the unfamiliar writing that has my heart suddenly pounding—it’s the faint streak of dirt across the back of the envelope.
Hands shaking, I tear into it, pull out the contents, and fall back into Lane’s chair as my knees go weak and my ears ring and the last five years of my life flash through my mind like lightning.
Dear Hayden,
Bear with me, city girl. I’m not good at this shit and I know what I’m about to say is probably going to surprise you… and maybe piss you off.
I know my timing is shit and I should have done this nine months ago, but I have to get it off my chest and I hope by the time you get to the end, you’ll understand why. I also hope you don’t hate me for it. But whatever you decide, I promise I won’t let it change anything between us.
Today, I witnessed a miracle. I know that sounds cliche, but what happened today isn’t anyone else’s story…it’s ours. It’s fucking ours, Hayden, and I can’t stand back and pretend I’m okay with how it’s played out so far.
I know I promised I’d never ask you for more, just like you promised me the same. You made it clear what you wanted and I thought it’d be enough for me, too.
I was a fool. It wasn’t enough. It was never enough and I don’t know that it ever will be, especially after today.
You made me a dad, baby. A fucking father. The best parts of you and me in one tiny little boy that has already become my world.
I know you were afraid to tell me you were pregnant because of the promise we’d made to each other. You were scared I’d hate you for it. You never said it, but I saw it in your eyes.
The truth is… I was never so fucking relieved in my entire life. Why? Because it meant you’d be in my life a little longer. Forever, actually. Because now our lives are intricately woven into one perfect little person.
I told myself just having a child with you would be enough. But I lied, baby. I lied to myself and I lied to you and I lied to God when I told him all I wanted out of this was for our baby to be healthy and for you to be happy.
The truth is I want more. I always have. I want you and us and our family. I know it isn’t your dream and it wasn’t mine, either, but it’s all I can think about now. YOU are all I think about.
We talked once about the universe knowing what we needed more than we knew ourselves and I have to believe the powers that be are trying to tell us something…
We were meant for more than those two weeks. We were meant for more than a few summer nights. I feel it in my gut and in my heart, and when you handed me our son today, I swear I saw it in your eyes, too.
If I’m wrong and I’m not the one you want, this letter changes nothing. My commitment to Jett and to you, as his mother, remains. I will be his dad and your partner in raising him just like I promised I would.
But if I’m right and there’s still a chance for us, I’m all yours. Every bit of me.
Whenever you’re ready.
Jesse
With a tear soaked face and trembling hands, I let the letter fall to the desk as emotion overwhelms me.
He wanted more.
He wanted me.
Us.
A family.
Everything I wanted but didn’t think I could have.
My God.
All of this time, and I never knew. Because Lane not only stole the opportunity, but he hid it away from me, too.
Rage rushes through my veins and I scream into the silence of the home we bought shortly after he proposed almost four years ago. When he promised he’d love me and respect me, always.
But he broke that promise before he even made it.
It’s almost six o’clock by the time Lane finally pulls into the driveway.
I don’t know how many times I almost called him to come home early. How many times I almost got in my car and drove to his damn office to confront him.
Instead, I read Jesse’s letter… again and again and again. Until I’d cried all of my tears and nothing but anger remained.
How could he have kept this from me? How could he have taken it in the first place, knowing damn well it wasn’t meant for him? Worse, how can he look me in the face, day after day, and tell me he loves me when he’s been lying to me for four goddamn years?
I’m in the kitchen with my hand wrapped tightly around a cold cup of coffee when he comes through the side door with his messenger bag and a tired smile.
“Hey, babe.” He drops the bag onto the table and bends to untie his shoes. “How was your day?”
“Interesting,” I say with more control than I expected myself capable. “Yours?”
“Good. Scored two more accounts. Remember that old-school client? He brought some friends in.”
“Ah.” I swallow and grip the mug so hard it’s a wonder it doesn’t shatter in my hand.
He flicks a glance my way, one eyebrow raised. “You alright?” he asks, while he undoes the button at the collar of his polo. “Everything okay with Jett?”
Heat begins to burn up the sides of my neck, but I manage to nod. “Yeah,” I rasp, my throat raw from all the tears. “He’s good.”
“Did you talk to Jesse today or—”
“You asked me a question on Saturday,” I blurt out, unable to put it off any longer. “At my parents’ house.”