— It’s Kate.
He froze, afraid to breathe. Her voice, quiet and strained, sounded so close, as if she were standing right behind him.
— I got the results, — she said after a pause.
— I did too.
— You… — she hesitated. — I want to talk. Can we?
— Yes, — he exhaled. — Of course. When? Wherever you’d like.
— Tomorrow. At that coffee shop… where I ran out. Two o’clock.
— I’ll be there.
A pause. He could hear her breathing on the other end—uneven and shaky.
— Mom wrote about you, — Kate finally said, her voice trembling. — In the letter. She… she didn’t blame you. She said it was her fault for not telling you. That she was afraid of ruining your life.
Andrew closed his eyes. The lump in his throat made it hard to speak.
— And Grandma, — Kate continued. — Grandma wrote that you came to see her. That you were upset when you found out about me. That you wanted to make things right. I… I don’t know if it’s all true. But I want to hear it. From you.
— It’s true, — he said hoarsely. — Every word of it.
Silence again.
— See you tomorrow, — Kate said and hung up.
Andrew sat in the dark study, gripping his phone. Outside, the city lights were coming on. Traffic hummed in the distance. The world kept turning, but for him, time had stopped. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would see his daughter. And maybe—just maybe—she would give him a chance.
He remembered Hope Gable’s words: “Whether you deserve it is for Kate to decide. Your job is to give her the choice.”
Tomorrow, Kate would make her choice. And whatever it was, Andrew would accept it. Because it was the least he could do after thirty years of silence.
The coffee shop was the same—small, cozy, with faded curtains and the smell of fresh pastry. Andrew arrived thirty minutes early. He sat at the same corner booth, away from the window. He ordered coffee he didn’t touch.
Kate appeared exactly at two. He saw her through the window. She stopped at the door, as if gathering her courage, fixing her hair. Then she resolutely pushed the door open and walked in. She had changed over these weeks. She was thinner, her face drawn. The dark circles under her eyes were deeper. But there was something new in her walk—not confidence, but a firm resolve. The resolve of someone who had made a life-altering decision.
— Hello, — she said, sitting down across from him.
— Hello.
The waitress came over and took their order: green tea for Kate, another coffee for Andrew. They were silent until she left.
— I dropped the report, — Kate said, looking at the table. — With the police. Yesterday.
Andrew nodded. He didn’t know what to say.
— I had to, — she continued. — After the letters. After the test. It would have been… — She trailed off.
— Kate, — Andrew said softly. — You don’t have to explain anything. You had every right to file that report. I was acting like… — He searched for the word. — Like a fool. I was following you like a stalker. I was barging into your life. I understand why you were scared.
— I wasn’t scared. — She looked up at him. — I was angry. All my life, I lived without a father. All my life, I heard from Mom, “He’s a good man. He just doesn’t know.” And I believed that story. Then Mom died. And I was all alone. And I thought, fine. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t need to. I’ll make it on my own.
The waitress brought the tea. Kate wrapped her hands around the warm cup as if trying to get warm.
— Then you showed up. Out of nowhere. And said you were my father. And I… — She swallowed. — I didn’t know what to feel. Anger? Joy? Resentment? All of it?
— I understand.
— No. — She shook her head. — You don’t. You can’t. You lived your life—successful, wealthy, comfortable. You had a wife, a home, a career. And me? I was surviving. I took care of Mom while she was dying. I buried her with my last cent. Then Grandma. I paid off debts that weren’t mine. And all that time, you were out there—my father—and you didn’t even know I existed.
Andrew was silent. Every word was a blow, and he took them all. He’d earned them.
— Mom wrote in her letter, — Kate continued, — that she saw you. Thirty years ago. She went to your office to tell you. But she saw how happy you were with your fiancée. And she couldn’t bring herself to ruin it. She decided to walk away.
— I didn’t know, — Andrew whispered, looking down. — I swear, I didn’t know.
— I believe you. Now. Grandma wrote the same thing. That you weren’t to blame for not knowing. That Mom made that choice herself. And that I shouldn’t hate you for it.
She took a sip of her tea. Her hands were still shaking slightly.
— But I’m still angry, — she admitted. — Not at you, personally. At the situation. At fate. At the fact that we lost thirty years. Thirty years that could have been different.
— I’m angry too, — Andrew said. — At myself. For not looking. For not checking back then. For not thinking that one night could have changed everything. I was a young man who only thought about his own future. And I… — His voice broke. He stopped, trying to compose himself. — I’m not asking for forgiveness, — he finally said firmly. — Because what I did—or didn’t do—is unforgivable. But I want to… — He hesitated. — I want to try. If you’ll let me. Not to fix the past—that’s impossible. But to build something new. Some kind of relationship. If you want that at all.
Kate looked at him for a long time. Tears welled in her eyes.
— Grandma wrote something else, — she said. — About the debt. About the collectors.
Andrew tensed up, expecting a confrontation…
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