I’ll leave it to you to file for divorce. I don’t want anything from you but my freedom. You and Cordelia are part of my past now. I don’t want to share custody. You can have her.
Please accept my decision and don’t come after me.
Natalie
Cordie’s heart ached for her father. She couldn’t imagine what he must have felt when he read the letter. It was so cold, brutal, unfeeling. It had to have devastated him, and yet he mourned her on his deathbed.
He’d treated the letter as though it was a treasure. He’d wrapped it in tissue, then sealed it in a plastic bag and tucked it in the bottom of the box with his other important papers. His letters to Natalie were there as well. There were four of them, and all had been returned unopened with Return to Sender stamped on the front. The address showed her father had sent them to a post office box in Chicago.
If her father hadn’t wanted Cordie to read the letters he’d written, he would have destroyed them, she decided. She sat in the middle of her bed, spread the envelopes in front of her, and one by one opened them.
In the first two letters he pleaded with Natalie to come home. He told her he loved her, that he would always love her, and that he was lost without her. In the third letter, sent two years after she’d left him, he notified her he had filed for divorce and had requested full custody of their daughter, Cordelia. He added that, even though he was taking legal action, he still loved her and wanted her to come back to him. He promised to wait because she would always be the love of his life. The fourth letter was verification that the divorce was final.
At first Cordie wanted to find the woman, to look her in the eyes and tell her what she probably already knew, that she was a horrible person for causing her father so much pain, but as therapeutic as it would be, Cordie knew she would never confront her. What would be the point? She gave up on the idea of having a conversation with the woman. She still wanted to find her, though. There were a few questions that needed answers. Had Natalie’s life changed for the better or the worse? Had her ridiculous dream of pretending she’d never been married and starting all over worked? Was she being pampered? Cordie most wanted to know if she had any regrets.
There were two other documents in the box with the letters: the marriage certificate and the divorce decree. The marriage certificate showed that Natalie Smith married Andrew Kane in Las Vegas, Nevada. It was dated four months before Cordie was born. The divorce decree was a very basic notice dissolving the marriage. She read them both and then carefully put everything back in the box and closed the lid.
It was after midnight when she finally got into bed. She tossed and turned for another hour before her mind calmed. She kept thinking about her father and how he had thrown his life away waiting. He could have remarried and had a wonderful life if he’d only been open to the idea. Did his love for Natalie become an obsession? Or did he feel, once married, always married?
She didn’t have any answers. She couldn’t understand how he could continue to love Natalie after reading that terrible letter. You can have her. Those were the last words that drifted into Cordie’s thoughts before sleep claimed her.
? ? ?
Sunday afternoon was spent grading papers, and Sunday evening was spent falling apart. She had been melancholy all day, but she kept busy so that she wouldn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. Not wanting to talk to anyone in her present frame of mind, she let the phone calls go to voice mail and tried to focus on getting organized for school. She was fine, she told herself again and again. She was just feeling a little stressed, nothing more, and certainly nothing to worry about.
But she wasn’t fine. She had lost her dad, her only family, the one person who had loved her unconditionally, like a good parent should, and then she’d read that horrible letter from the woman who had to be talked into giving Cordie life and then couldn’t wait to be rid of her. You can have her. Those words were branded in her mind. And there were her father’s desperate pleas in his letters for the love of his life to come back to him. How could her father have loved someone like that?
It was getting late. Cordie collected her papers and books for the next day and slipped them into her satchel, then stood and stretched. The strain of the last few days had taken its toll. The tension in her muscles was working its way upward, and now her head was beginning to throb. Rubbing her temples, she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. A long, hot shower was exactly what she needed.
She let the soothing water flow over her tight muscles, and by the time she stepped out of the shower, the tension had eased and her headache was gone. She washed and dried her hair, then put on a short silk nightgown. She was beginning to feel much better and was proud of herself because she had kept it together all evening. She’d done enough of that in the past few days.
She hadn’t been sleeping well lately and hoped tonight would be different. She was so tired now, she thought she might just fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow, but to be sure, she would go down to the kitchen and brew a cup of chamomile tea. Not bothering to put on her slippers, she picked up her silk robe and padded out into the hallway. She was tying the sash on her robe and didn’t notice the box of books she’d left sitting on the landing until she tripped into it, lost her balance, and went flying down the stairs. The box careened down the steps with her, and she landed on her backside with books all around her. It was the last straw in a miserable day. She leaned into the banister and burst into tears. She could have broken her neck, and no one would have known until they found her decomposing body days later. Oh Lord, what a depressing thought. She was so caught up in her misery she didn’t hear the pounding on the door.
Aiden had just climbed the steps to her front door when he heard a commotion and a loud thud coming from inside. He called her name, but there wasn’t any response. About to break in, he realized he hadn’t tried the doorknob. He’d assumed it was locked, but it wasn’t. He rushed inside and was met with the sight of Cordie sobbing as she pushed books off her and tried to get up from the floor.
“Are you hurt?” His worry made him sound angry.
She wasn’t in the mood to be sociable. “Go away.”
“Are you hurt?” He repeated the question, though now his voice was calmer.
“No.”
He rubbed the back of his neck while he studied her. He wasn’t sure what to do. It wasn’t like Cordelia to be difficult. She always had it together. But not tonight. He picked up the books and stacked them in the box in the corner of the foyer; then he turned back to her. She was still crying. He wanted to tell her to stop.
“Why are you crying?”
Her first inclination was to glare at him, but she was too weary to give it her best effort. She grabbed the banister and, wincing, pulled herself up.
He moved forward and, before she realized his intent, lifted her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
“Did you know your front door was unlocked? Anyone could have come in. You live alone, Cordelia. You should make certain your doors are always locked and your alarm is always on,” he scolded as they ascended the steps.
“I don’t have an alarm.”
“You’re getting one,” he snapped.
Aiden’s mind raced with all the terrible things that could have happened to her, and he was furious about her cavalier attitude toward her safety. There was only one bedroom door open and he headed there. He could have put her down, but he didn’t. She weighed next to nothing in his arms. He sat on the side of the bed with her in his lap, his arms wrapped around her as he waited for her tears to stop flowing. Her head was down on his shoulder, and she was so soft cuddled against him. He had the sudden urge to get the hell away from her. He was reacting to her in a way he didn’t like.