II. Micah and Josiah
Two boys sat beneath the giant illuminated Vance Innovations logo, dark hair, matching navy jackets, small sneakers dangling above the marble floor. And eyes — my eyes, the exact same shade, the exact same shape.
The lobby had gone completely silent. Employees stared. Security guards stood frozen. The receptionist had her hand pressed flat against her chest.
Then one boy spotted me. His whole face lit up. “Daddy!”
The other jumped to his feet. “Daddy!”
Before I could react, they ran straight toward me and collided with my legs, wrapping their arms around me with absolute, unshakable certainty.
We found you!” one shouted.
The other looked up, grinning. “Mama said you’d be tall.”
“And serious,” his brother added.
“But not mean.”
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. I had negotiated nine-figure acquisitions without breaking a sweat. Two little boys hugging my legs left me completely speechless.
Slowly, I lowered myself to one knee. “What are your names?”
“I’m Micah.”
“And I’m Josiah.”
“We’re twins,” Micah said proudly.
Josiah nodded. “Mama says we were a really big surprise.”
A strange sound escaped my throat — part laugh, part sob, part disbelief. I swallowed hard. “Who is your mother?”
Micah held out a wrinkled, hand-addressed envelope. “She told us to give you this.”
My hands trembled as I took it. On the front, in familiar handwriting I hadn’t seen in nine years, were three words that made my blood run cold.
For Julian Only.
I knew that handwriting. There was only one woman in the world who wrote her J’s that way, looping the tail like a little wave. A woman who had disappeared from my life two years before the accident. A woman I had once planned to marry.
Camille.
