Ten minutes later, a cup of coffee in hand, he picked up the pink sheet of stationery and reread the letter from Natalie.

Jack—

I’m certain you never expected to hear from me again, but now that I’m gone, you need to know the secret I’ve kept all these years.

You have a daughter. Her name is Hannah.

I thought about trying to find you when I discovered I was pregnant, but we both understood the one night we spent together was more about comfort than commitment. I also knew fatherhood wasn’t in your plans back then. Nor did I want to subject Hannah to a life traveling back and forth between two parents.

I’ve made many mistakes in my life, and perhaps my silence about this was one of them, but I did intend to contact you when Hannah was older. If you’re reading this letter, death has preempted that plan.

My sister is prepared to raise Hannah, and I’ve named her legal guardian in the event you don’t want to take her. Please discuss this with Erica—and between the two of you, make the best choice for the daughter I cherished, who filled all the empty places in my life with joy and love.

Jack drew in a shaky breath. Set down the letter.

Of all the ways to find out you were a father, this came nowhere close to making the short list.

Fortified with a swig of coffee, he tapped in Erica’s number.

She answered two rings in, though it was difficult to hear her with all the background noise.

After he identified himself, he got straight to the reason for his call. “Your package arrived today.”

“Let me try to find a quieter spot. I’m at O’Hare. Hold for a minute.” A muffled boarding announcement came over the line, along with other noises that faded away before she spoke again. “Sorry. Airports aren’t the best place to hold phone conversations—especially not this kind. I imagine you’re in shock.”

“At the very least.”

“Are you going to take the test?”

This was not a woman who beat around the bush.

He surveyed the prepaid, mail-in DNA kit that had been inside the opaque plastic sleeve along with a photo of a ten-year-old girl who had his dark eyes, aquiline nose, and slightly asymmetrical lips. “Yes—but I’m 99 percent certain Hannah’s my daughter.” The family resemblance was remarkable.

“I’m 100 percent certain. I remember the summer Natalie met you. I was living in New York, and I heard quite a bit about you during our infrequent phone chats. First name only, though. She was quite taken with you, you know.”

No, he didn’t. Until that last night, Natalie had been nothing more than a friendly, sympathetic ear to him.