Simon’s familiar handwriting was written neatly across the first page.
‘Gemma, I am sorry you are learning this without me. There is a five-year-old boy named Leo. You don’t owe him anything, and if you want to stop here, you can stop. But if you find him, you will understand why I couldn’t walk away. I am sorry I never told you.’
I read the short letter twice, my mind spinning completely out of control.
“Leo who?” I asked, looking up at her furiously.
Nora said nothing for a long moment.
“Is Leo your son?” I demanded outright.
“No,” Nora answered clearly.
“Were you sleeping with Simon?” I asked, abandoning any sense of polite restraint.
“No,” Nora replied firmly.
“Then who is he?” I snapped at her.
“I can’t tell you,” Nora said quietly.
I actually laughed out loud at the absurdity of it. “You come to a pregnant widow’s house with a letter from her dead husband telling her to find a five-year-old boy, and you can’t tell me who he is?”
