My name,Amy Beckett, is written on the “Pay to the order of” line in his handwriting.
And then there’s a dizzying string of zeroes…
$200,000.00
The air leaves my lungs in a sharp whoosh.
The familiar panic, cold and slick, rises in my throat.
My hands begin to shake.I push the check back across the table as if it’s on fire.
“No,” I choke out, shaking my head.My chair scraping backward against the floor.“No, I can’t.”
“Amy, Amy… look at me.”His voice is a calm, steady anchor in the violent storm in my head.
He doesn’t move.He doesn’t close the distance I’ve just created.
He waits until my wide, terrified eyes finally meet his.“This is not a leash,” he says, his voice a quiet, sacred vow.“It’s the key.The key to the cage he put you in.And it’s not from me.”
My brow furrows, my panic momentarily overridden by confusion.“Of course it is.It’s your name—”
“Look again.”He flips the envelope over and slides it gently toward me.
My eyes drop back to the name written in blue ink.
Arella Warren
“My mother,” he begins, his voice thick with controlled grief, “lived her whole life in a cage.Married to a monster she couldn’t escape, because she had nothing of her own.No money.No power.No way out.”He pauses.The weight of his words settles over me, a shared history of pain I’m only just beginning to understand.“The only thing she had was a small life insurance policy through my father’s work benefits.She made me the sole beneficiary.It was her one act of defiance.”He presses his index finger to the check on the table.“This is her legacy, Amy.”His eyes burn into mine, filled with a love so fierce it brings tears to my own.
“I’m not giving you my money to put you in my debt,” he says, his voice cracking.“I’m passing along her gift of freedom to a woman who deserves it.A woman she would have seen as a kindred soul.”He takes a shaky breath.“This isn’t a transaction.It’s a tribute.From one survivor… to another.”
Tears I can no longer contain spill over.I pull my chair back in and reach for him, wrapping my arms around his neck in a tight, desperate hug.A sob, thick with gratitude and a hundred other emotions, breaks from my lips.
His arms come around me instantly.He holds me just as tightly, his hand cradling the back of my head.He doesn’t speak.He just holds me.A solid, unwavering presence.
I feel his chin tuck against the side of my head, a soothing murmur rumbling through his chest.“It’s okay, love.”
After a long moment, the intensity subsides, leaving me with quiet, shaky breaths.I slowly pull back, my skin streaked with tears.He cups my face, his thumbs gently wiping away the moisture from my cheeks.His own eyes glisten.His jaw is tight as he swallows.
“Thank you for letting me do this for my mom.”A single tear escapes down his cheek.
My hand rises to the side of his face, my thumb swiping it away as a watery smile finds my lips.
Matthew reaches for the white envelope on the table.He picks it up, folds the cheque neatly, and slides it back inside.Then, he takes my hand, turns it palm-up, and presses the envelope firmly into it, curling my fingers around it with his own.
“No strings attached,” he says, his voice resolute.
I look down at the envelope in my hand.
His mother’s legacy.
My freedom.
The love from this incredible man.
FIFTY ONE
THE BELL ABOVE the door to Maddy’s Place has never sounded so hopeful.
