And I went back to staring at the letter, reading it for the hundredth time.
Logan,
I hope you still remember me. Eleanor Bean. You used to call me Ellie. We went to college together.
Actually, we did more than just go to college. You might not remember that part so well, since your focus was always on studying. But we had fun together during breaks, and some nights at your apartment.
Maybe you remember me from one scare in particular. When that busybody, Mia Silverstone, told you I was pregnant. You came looking for me in my dorm room, and man, Logan… I’d never seen anyone so pale and desperate in my entire life.
I told you what, at the time, was true: I still wasn’t sure. I was feeling nauseous, and my period was late, but I didn’t want to take a drugstore test. I had a doctor’s appointment scheduled and was going to ask for a real one. So, the following week, I gave you the definitive answer: it was a false alarm. I wasn’t having your child.
Well… that part wasn’t 100% true.
I was pregnant. But all I could remember was the sheer panic on your face when you asked me about it. All you could say was, “It has to be a false alarm. I can’t have a child right now. It would ruin my career. It would ruin my life.”
I, on the other hand… I really wanted to be a mother. I always had. And I didn’t even care much about college; I was only there because my parents insisted. My dream was a career in music. I told you that several times, and all you could say was that my parents were right, that “this music thing” doesn’t get anyone anywhere, and that I should focus on a “real profession.”
Honestly, I always found it ironic to hear that from the son of a super-successful actress.
So, when you were so visibly relieved by my lie, it just confirmed I was doing the rightthing. I didn’t want my child to grow up feeling rejected by a father who never wanted them. Or worse, resented for arriving at the “wrong time.”
A month later, I said goodbye and went back to my hometown. I made a living singing in bars and at parties, and I had two beautiful baby girls on my own.
They look just like you, by the way. Have you noticed?
So, six years later, here they are: Anna and Aurora. They only have my last name, since you weren’t there to register them. But there’s still time to fix that, isn’t there? You’re graduated now. I’ve seen that you’ve completed several specializations and become a highly regarded neurologist. The risk of them “ruining your life” is much lower now, I assume.
And you know what? They never ruined mine. It was hard, of course. An insane amount of responsibility, raising them alone with no family support and very little money. But I have never for a single second regretted it. They are the most precious creatures in the world.
Aurora—or Rory, as we call her—is sweet and affectionate, but also shy and insecure.You’ll need to be patient with her. Anna is her polar opposite: courageous and determined. She’s not overly affectionate, but she’s fiercely loving. She’s also deeply suspicious, which will require a lot of patience on your part, too.
I love them more than anything, and I know you will love them, too. I know this feels like I’m abandoning them, but someday they’ll understand I did this out of love. I can’t keep them anymore, and I believe you’ll soon understand why.
Inside the suitcase is a folder with all their documents and everything you might need.
Take good care of them. And when they ask about me… just tell them I had to go on a trip, but that I love them more than my own life.
Yours sincerely,
Eleanor “Ellie” Bean
The next sheet was a power of attorney, signed by Ellie and a judge. It was valid for one month, authorizing me as the girls' legal guardian.
I remembered Ellie well. How could I forget the woman who’d given me the biggest scare of my life?
And according to this letter, it hadn't been a false alarm after all. Unless, of course, she was lying.
My eyes drifted back to the girls.Hell.The resemblance was uncanny. And their age lined up perfectly with that frantic end-of-college fling.
A sharp knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. I’d already informed the front desk I was expecting someone and to send them right up.
I opened the door to find a familiar, furious face.
Dr. Janet Rodriguez. Family lawyer. And my parents' longtime friend.
“It’s nine o’clock on a Friday night, Logan,” she said, her voice dripping with irritation. Having known me since I was in diapers, she’d never been one for formalities. “I simply can't believe you, of all people, made me run all the way out here to get you out of trouble like this.”
“What are you talking about, Janet? I didn’t even tell you why I called.”
