Page 9 of Make You Stay

We didn’t speak for years. She was angry, and rightfully so. Hurt that her mother didn’t care enough to stick around. Her father raised her right, and Chloe grew into a beautiful and successful woman.

A woman I don’t know.

That is my biggest regret. I can’t wait for Thanksgiving to arrive. I hope to rekindle the love I never lost for my daughter and show her—finally—that the mother who walked out decades ago loves her.

But should that not happen, promise me this. Love Chloe, as I do.

She deserves your love, much more than I ever did.

With a sigh,I scrub my face, noting the postmark on the letter. Betsey sent it out the day before she passed, but the snow delayed delivery.

My friend made several cryptic comments before her procedure, but I assured her she would be fine.

Turns out I was wrong—on all counts.

Chloe isn’t some spoilt city dweller. She’s a woman who grew up without a mother. Had I known these facts beforehand, I would have had some stern words for Betsey. As it stands, I need to make it right with her daughter.

Scooting back my chair, I grab my coat and head for the door.

“Agenuineapology, Dad,” Natalie calls from the kitchen as I roll my eyes in her direction.

Got it, kiddo. Got it.

* * *

Chloe pullsopen her front door, her face lined with apprehension. Way to make an impression, Aidan. “What can I do for you?”

Now that I’m not fuming at Chloe, I’m struck by her beauty and the fragility running just out of sight behind her calm facade. “I told the girls they can come by anytime, provided they ask you first.”

Her brow furrows. Likely she thinks it’s a trick. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

I hold out Natalie’s letter. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.”

“First time you’ve said my name. What is that?”

“A letter from Betsey. She wrote one for each of my girls.”

“Emily mentioned something about a letter.” Her slender fingers grasp the paper, but she makes no move to take it. “Figures she would write them and not me.”

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

“No. It’s not for me.” Pushing open the door, she motions me into the house. “Would you like some coffee?”

“I’d like to apologize. I didn’t know the story, and I made assumptions—badassumptions—based on what information I had. I’d like to start over if we could.”

“You don’t want to hate me anymore?” That spark is so familiar. The same snarky sarcasm flowed from Betsey’s lips.

“I’d like to see if maybe we could be friends.”

“Is that what the letter told you to do?” Chloe inquires, barking out a laugh. “Thanks, but I’m good. I don’t require your charity, Aidan.”

Bullheaded, just like her mother. “Dammit, Chloe, it’s not charity. I’m trying to admit I behaved like a horse’s ass.”

She plants her hands on her hips, shooting me a scalding glare. “You’re trying or actually admitting to it?”

“You’re a trying woman, you know that?”

“Likely a term of endearment, considering what you had thought of me.”

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