Chapter 4 - The Real Letter
For once, no one stopped him.
The service corridor was narrow and bright.
The smell of sugar, roasted meat, dishwater, and floor cleaner replaced perfume and flowers.
Annie rested her head against Victor’s shoulder.
Brian walked ahead.
At the end of the corridor, near the loading area doors, Catherine Williams stood in a black catering apron over a faded gray dress, holding a bus tub against her hip.
She looked thinner than Victor remembered.
Her dark hair was pulled back loosely.
Her face was tired in a way makeup could not hide.
When she saw Victor carrying Annie, the tub slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor.
For one second, husband and wife stared at each other across three years of lies.
Catherine’s eyes filled.
Then fear entered.
She stepped back.
“Victor.”
He almost broke at the sound of her voice.
Not angry.
Not cold.
Not distant.
Afraid.
He set Annie down carefully.
The little girl ran to Catherine.
Catherine dropped to her knees and pulled her close.
“I told you to stay by the wall.”
“I saw Dad,” Annie cried.
Catherine looked up at Victor.
Her face twisted with pain.
“I’m sorry. She was hungry. They cleared the trays. I thought no one would—”
Victor shook his head.
“Don’t.”
She stopped.
He took one step closer.
“Catherine, did you write that letter?”
Her face went blank.
“What letter?”
“The one saying not to look for you. That Annie was better without me.”
Catherine’s mouth opened.
Nothing came.
Then she slowly stood, keeping one hand on Annie’s shoulder.
“I wrote you a letter asking you to meet me at the station. I told you your mother had thrown us out. I told you I was going to Harrisburg because my aunt had a spare room. I begged you to call me.”
Victor looked like he had been struck.
Brian lowered his eyes.
Catherine saw the envelope in Brian’s trembling hand.
“You kept it?”
Brian nodded, tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Williams.”
Catherine’s expression softened despite everything.
“You were scared.”
“I should have been braver.”
“Yes,” she said gently. “But I know.”
Victor looked between them.
“Why didn’t you contact me again?”
Catherine stared.
“I did.”
The corridor went silent.
“I called your office for six months. Your assistant said all personal family matters had to go through Maris. I emailed you until the emails bounced. I sent letters to the house. They came back marked refused. I went to your building once, and security told me there was a restraining instruction.”
Victor closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I never gave that instruction.”
Catherine’s face crumpled.
“I know that now.”
He opened his eyes.
“What changed?”
She glanced toward the ballroom.
“Annie.”
His daughter held Catherine’s skirt.
Catherine continued, “She kept asking why her father never came. I kept telling her you must not know. Then Maris found us last year.”
Victor’s voice dropped.
“What?”
“At a church food pantry in Lancaster. She told me you had remarried privately. That you had a new child coming. That if I tried to contact you, she would say I had been unstable for years and have Annie taken from me.”
Victor’s hands closed slowly.
Annie whispered, “Grandma said Dad’s new baby was good.”
Victor looked down at his daughter.
“No.”
His voice broke.
“No, sweetheart.”
Catherine’s eyes searched his face.
“You didn’t remarry?”
“No.”
“You didn’t stop sending money?”
“I sent money every month.”
Catherine looked stunned.
“We never got a dollar.”
Victor turned toward Brian.
Brian’s face was wet now.
“Sir, Mrs. Williams handled the account.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
Of course she did.
The “Catherine support account” had been set up through one of Maris’s private charitable entities, disguised as a family welfare trust. Victor had signed authorizations after his mother’s lawyer assured him it protected Catherine’s privacy.
He had been too devastated to see the trap.
Too ashamed to question the one parent still standing beside him.
Too proud to admit the truth might require ugly confrontation.
Maris had known exactly which wounds to press.
The ballroom behind them had gone quiet enough that some guests had drifted to the service doorway, listening.
Maris appeared among them.
Perfect gown.
Perfect pearls.
Perfectly pale.
“Catherine,” she said. “You should not be back here with guests present.”
Catherine instinctively pulled Annie closer.
Victor saw it.
That reflex.
His wife protecting their daughter from his mother like Maris was weather they had learned to survive.
He stepped between them.
Maris stopped.
“Victor.”
He held out his hand toward Brian.
“The envelope.”
Brian gave it to him.
Victor tore it open.
Inside were three pages.
Catherine’s handwriting.
Not typed.
Not bitter.
Not distant.
Victor,
Your mother had security remove me from the guesthouse tonight after I refused to sign the custody document she put in front of me. She said you knew. I do not believe her, but I don’t know how to reach you.
I am taking Annie to Harrisburg for tonight because she is scared and I cannot let her sleep in the car.
Please meet me at Union Station tomorrow at 10 a.m. If you want us gone, tell me yourself. If you want this marriage, come without your mother.
I love you. I am angry. I am terrified. But I still believe you are better than the silence around you.
Catherine
Victor’s hands shook.
He read the last line twice.
I still believe you are better than the silence around you.
Catherine had waited.
He had not come.
Because Maris had given him another letter before the real one reached him.
A forged one.
A clean one.
May you like
A cruel one.
A letter designed to make him grieve instead of search.
