The woman looked at him for a long time, studying him. Then, her thin lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.
— You came, — she whispered. — I knew you would. She said you’d come.
— Who said?
— Sit down, Andrew. We have a lot to talk about.
He sat on the hard chair, his heart racing. This woman knew his name too. This wasn’t a mistake.
— How do you know who I am? — he asked, his throat dry.
— I don’t know you personally, — Hope shook her head. — I’ve never seen you in the flesh. But I know all about you. I was told.
— By whom?
— My Sarah. My daughter.
Andrew felt a cold chill run down his spine.
— Sarah. From the summer of ’96?
— Your daughter… — He hesitated, terrified of the answer. — Where is she now?
The old woman’s face crumpled for a second. Her eyes grew misty.
— She’s gone, Andrew. Eight years now. Cancer. Just like your wife—it took her fast. Only Sarah didn’t have the money for fancy specialists. She fought for three months, and that was it.
Andrew closed his eyes. Sarah was dead. The girl he remembered as young and beautiful was gone. He would never be able to ask her anything.
— I was told she had a daughter, — he said quietly. — Is it true?
Hope didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached into her nightstand and pulled out a worn photo album. Her hands shook, but her movements were practiced; she clearly looked at these photos often.
— Look here. — She handed him the open book.
In the photo was a girl about five years old. Blonde hair, gray eyes, a shy smile. Andrew looked at the picture and felt a strange warmth mixed with sheer terror. He recognized those features. The high forehead, the shape of the eyes, the stubborn set of the jaw—it was his. His own face, reflected in a child.
— Turn the page, — Hope commanded.
He flipped through. More photos: the girl growing up, becoming a teenager, then a young woman. In the last few shots, she was in her twenties—a beautiful woman with a serious gaze and a determined mouth.
— What’s her name? — Andrew asked, his voice barely a whisper.
— Kate. Sarah wanted to name her after her grandmother.
Kate. His daughter. His own flesh and blood.
— Did Sarah… — He swallowed hard. — Did she know? That I was the father?
Hope nodded slowly.
— She knew. She always knew. She wasn’t a fool, my girl. She figured it out right away. She actually went to your office once, before Kate was born. They told her you’d just gotten married. That you were happy, starting your life. She watched you from across the street and walked away. She decided not to ruin things for you.
— My God… — Andrew whispered, burying his face in his hands.
— Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain! — the old woman snapped. — You! You should have known. You knew what happened that night. You could have checked. You could have found her and asked. But it was easier not to know, wasn’t it? Easier to forget and live your comfortable life.
She was right. Brutally, painfully right. He could have found Sarah. He could have known. But he hadn’t wanted to. He was twenty-three, ambitious, with the world at his feet. And somewhere nearby, a pregnant girl was waiting for a sign that never came.
— Sarah… — he stammered. — Did she hate me?
— No, — Hope shook her head. — she never hated you. She used to say, “He’s not a bad man. He’s just young. Not everyone is ready for the weight of the world.” And she made Kate promise never to look for you. She said, “Live your life. Your father has his own path. Don’t interfere.”
— Но you? You decided differently?
The old woman gave a tired, bitter laugh.
— I’m old, Andrew. I don’t have much time left. Kate is all alone in this world. No husband, no kids. She works like a dog just to keep her head above water. And you have millions. Money that could last ten lifetimes. I thought she should at least know. What you do with that information is up to you. No one is forcing your hand.
— Where is she? — Andrew stood up abruptly. — Kate. Where does she live?
— Sit down, — Hope ordered in a tone that brooked no argument. — Sit down and listen. The story isn’t over.
He sat back down. The old woman watched him, weighing whether to continue.
— Kate doesn’t know who her father is, — she finally said. — Sarah never gave her your name. She only told her that her father was a married man with a good job. That he wasn’t a bad guy, it just wasn’t meant to be. Kate grew up with that. She accepted it. She didn’t go looking.
— So if I go to her…
— If you go to her, you’ll have to prove who you are. She’ll think you’re a scammer or someone looking to take advantage of her… — Hope chuckled. — Her nothing. She has nothing to her name but debt.
— What debt?
— Sarah was sick… Kate sold everything she had to pay for the treatments. The car, her savings. She took out loans she couldn’t afford. It didn’t save her mother, of course. Now she’s just working herself to the bone to pay it all back.
Andrew listened, a storm of guilt and shame rising inside him.
— I’ll take care of it. I’ll help her, — he said firmly. — I’ll pay off every cent. I’ll buy her a house. Whatever she needs.
Hope shook her head sadly.
— You don’t get it, Andrew. She doesn’t want your charity. She needs a father. A real person. Someone who won’t disappear in a month when his conscience is clear. Someone who won’t just write a check. Are you ready to be that man? Be honest.
Andrew was silent. He didn’t have an answer.
— Here’s the address. — Hope handed him a folded piece of notebook paper. — Kate works at the children’s hospital. She’s a nurse. Every day but Sunday, 8:00 to 5:00. Do what you want with it. Но remember: you already walked away once. Kate won’t survive a second time.
Andrew took the paper. It felt heavy in his hand.
— Thank you, — he said quietly.
— Don’t thank me. I’m doing this for Kate. And for Sarah—deep down, she would have wanted her daughter to know the truth. Even if she was terrified of it.
He stood up and headed for the door. He had his hand on the knob when her voice stopped him.
— Andrew.
He turned around.
— Kate is a lot like you. Not just her face—her spirit. She’s stubborn. She’s proud. She won’t accept you right away. She’ll push you away. Don’t give up. If you really want to be her father—don’t you dare give up.
He nodded and stepped out into the hall.
For three days, Andrew couldn’t bring himself to go to the address on the paper. He paced his empty house, drank scotch, and stared at the photo he had taken of the picture in Hope’s album. Kate. His daughter. A grown woman who had lived thirty years without him.
On the fourth day, Dan, his VP and closest friend, called.
— Andrew, how are you holding up? We’re all worried. When are you coming back to the office?
— I don’t know, Dan, — Andrew admitted. — I need some advice.
An hour later, Dan was in his study, listening to the story with wide eyes. They had known each other for twenty years, built the business from the ground up. Dan was the only person Andrew trusted completely.
— Wait, — Dan rubbed his face. — So this woman at the cemetery… she was waiting for you? That’s wild. Who is she?
— A relative of Hope Gable. — Andrew shrugged. He’d wondered the same thing. How did she know he’d be there? Hope hadn’t mentioned her. And he’d been too stunned to ask. — It doesn’t matter, — he snapped. — What matters is what I do now.
Dan was silent for a long time, looking out at the garden. Then he turned to his friend.
— Look, Andrew. I get that this is a shock. But are you sure it’s true? That this girl is really yours?
— I saw the photo, Dan. She… she’s a mirror image of me at that age.
— People look alike all the time. Have you done a DNA test?
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