By the time they moved me toward the ambulance, I had stopped trying to understand Warren Sterling.
I couldn't think about his company.
Or his money.
Or the strange way he had looked at me.
I could only think about my son.
I needed someone to tell me he was alive.
I needed to know why I couldn't feel him moving.
And I needed to get to the hospital before anything became worse.
The rain was still falling.
I remember the cold air against my face as the medical team brought me outside.
The change in temperature made me shiver.
I looked toward the driveway.
Bright emergency lights reflected against the wet ground.
Everything seemed too bright.
Too loud.
Too fast.
The responders moved with a confidence I desperately wanted to borrow.
They knew where everything belonged.
They knew what questions to ask.
They knew how to move me safely.
I followed their instructions as closely as I could.
Warren stayed nearby.
At first, I assumed he would leave.
He had already done more than I could reasonably expect from someone I had never met.
He had come to my house.
He had stayed beside me.
He had helped me feel less alone while I waited for medical assistance.
Surely he had other responsibilities.
Important people must have been expecting him.
Meetings.
Messages.
Decisions.
All the things Vance had spent years telling me mattered in Warren Sterling's world.
But he didn't leave.
He followed the medical team.
When arrangements were made for my transport, he remained with me.
And before I could understand how it had happened, he was sitting beside me inside the ambulance.
I stared at him.
His dark coat looked even more out of place beneath the ambulance lights.
He was still holding the white handkerchief.
The fabric had become wrinkled.
One corner was damp.
I looked away.
A medical professional was attending to me.
Questions continued.
My breathing.
The timing of the contractions.
Whether I had noticed any movement from the baby.
I answered as clearly as I could.
Each time someone asked about my son, fear tightened in my chest.
I wanted to give a different answer.
I wanted to say he had moved.
That I had felt him kick while they brought me outside.
That everything seemed normal again.
But I couldn't.
"No."
The answer hurt every time.
"I still haven't felt him."
The medical team continued working.
I could hear equipment being prepared.
I could hear the ambulance around us.
Then the vehicle began moving.
The siren sounded.
For a moment, I closed my eyes.
I had heard ambulance sirens countless times in Seattle.
Usually from a distance.
Sometimes while walking along a busy street.
Sometimes late at night, when one passed somewhere outside our neighborhood.
I had never imagined hearing one while lying inside the vehicle myself.
I had never imagined being the person everyone was trying to reach.
The thought made me feel small.
Not unimportant.
Just painfully aware of how quickly an ordinary life could change.
That morning, I had still been a pregnant woman expecting to meet her son soon.
By evening, I was inside an ambulance with an unfamiliar billionaire who seemed to know something about my family.
And my husband was somewhere else.
Still at his mother's celebration.
I looked at my phone.
There was nothing new from Vance.
I placed it down.
I didn't want to keep checking.
I was frightened that if I saw his name, I would start crying again.
And if I didn't see it, that would hurt too.
Warren noticed me looking at the phone.
He didn't ask whether Vance had called.
He seemed to know the answer.
Instead, he leaned forward slightly.
"Natalie, are you comfortable enough to talk?"
It was such a strange question.
Nothing about that night was comfortable.
But I understood what he meant.
He wanted to explain something.
Something important.
I nodded.
Then I changed my mind.
"First, tell me why you came."
He looked at me for several seconds.
His expression became serious.
The warmth hadn't disappeared.
But there was something heavier beneath it.
Regret.
I recognized that emotion.
I had felt it often enough.
He folded the handkerchief slowly.
Then he said that an investigator working for him had confirmed my identity earlier that evening.
I frowned.
"Confirmed what?"
He took a breath.
"That you are Natalie Brooks."
I stared at him.
"Yes. That's my name."
He nodded.
"I know."
I waited.
It seemed like he was struggling to decide where the explanation should begin.
The ambulance continued moving.
The siren sounded again.
I could feel the vehicle turning.
A medical responder checked on me, and the conversation paused.
When we were allowed to continue, Warren spoke carefully.
He said he had been searching for someone.
Not for a few days.
Not for a few weeks.
For much longer.
He had finally received information that led him to me.
At first, I didn't understand why that mattered.
I wasn't missing.
I hadn't been hiding.
I had lived under my own name.
I had married Vance Mercer.
I had an address.
A telephone number.
A normal life.
Why would someone need an investigator to find me?
"Mr. Sterling, I don't understand."
He nodded again.
"I know. And I owe you an explanation."
I looked at his face.
The resemblance I had noticed earlier returned to my mind.
His eyebrows.
His eyes.
The way he looked at me.
I felt a sudden nervousness that had nothing to do with the contractions.
It seemed impossible that a stranger could look familiar.
And yet he did.
Warren continued.
He said the investigator had only recently connected my identity to my married name.
Before that, his search had not led to the right person.
Then he told me something that made me forget the siren for a moment.
He hadn't known I was married to Vance.
I stared at him.
"Your employee?"
"Yes."
"But you know Vance."
"I know who he is."
Warren paused.
"I didn't know he was married to you."
I tried to understand the distinction.
Vance had worked for Warren's company for seven years.
He spoke about its leadership constantly.
He cared about every opportunity for advancement.
But somehow, the man at the top had been searching for me without knowing I was connected to one of his own employees.
It made no sense.
Not yet.
I pressed the handkerchief between my fingers.
Then Warren mentioned the letters.
Two of them.
Both sent to me.
Both important.
He said they had been mailed during the previous six weeks.
Certified correspondence.
The kind that required a record of delivery.
I felt something unpleasant move through my chest.
"The letters?"
He watched me closely.
"You didn't receive them?"
I thought about the hallway floor.
The ivory envelope.
My full name printed on the front.
The expensive gold lettering.
Then I remembered the earlier envelope Vance had opened.
The one he told me was irrelevant.
I swallowed.
"I saw something."
Warren waited.
"A letter. A few weeks ago."
I tried to remember exactly what Vance had said.
I was frightened that my memory would fail me.
But one detail was clear.
The envelope had already been opened.
I had asked about it.
And Vance had told me not to worry.
"He said it was company paperwork."
Warren's expression tightened.
"Company paperwork?"
I nodded.
"He said it didn't concern me."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The ambulance continued toward Harborview.
A medical responder checked my condition again.
I answered.
Then Warren turned back to me.
"Both letters were addressed to you, Natalie."
I stared at him.
"Not Vance?"
"No."
I thought about the unopened correspondence scattered across the hallway floor.
I remembered reaching toward the door.
The envelopes falling.
The ivory one beside my hand.
My name.
The law firm's address.
Suddenly, something I had barely noticed became important.
"There was another envelope tonight."
Warren leaned closer.
"Where?"
"Near our front door."
I closed my eyes.
"It fell off the table when I was trying to get up."
He listened without interrupting.
"It had my name on it."
I opened my eyes.
"Was that from you?"
His expression told me the answer before he spoke.
"Very likely."
I felt sick.
Not because I understood everything.
Because I understood enough to be frightened.
Someone had been trying to contact me.
Someone important.
And at least one letter had reached my husband's hands before I could read it.
I thought about Vance's impatience on the phone.
His refusal to leave the birthday celebration.
The way he had acted as though my medical emergency were a personal inconvenience.
Then I thought about the envelope he had dismissed.
I didn't want to connect those things.
I was afraid of what they might mean.
"Why didn't he give it to me?"
Warren didn't answer immediately.
He looked troubled.
"I can't tell you why he made that decision."
I appreciated that he didn't pretend to know.
I had heard enough confident explanations from Vance.
I wanted facts.
Not excuses.
Not assumptions.
Facts.
I looked at Warren again.
"What was in the letters?"
He took a careful breath.
"Information about you."
I waited.
"And about me."
The ambulance seemed suddenly quieter.
I knew that wasn't true.
The siren was still sounding.
The medical team was still working.
But my attention had narrowed to Warren's face.
"About us?"
He nodded.
I looked at his eyes again.
Silver-gray.
Like mine.
I thought about Aunt Ruth.
The woman who had raised me after my biological mother's death.
She had loved me.
I had never doubted that.
She had given me a home.
She had cared for me until I was old enough to care for myself.
When she died while I was twenty-two, I lost the person who had always made my childhood feel secure.
She had also been the person who told me my father had disappeared before I was born.
I had grown up believing he hadn't wanted me.
I never knew his face.
I never knew his voice.
I didn't know whether he was tall or short.
Whether he laughed easily.
Whether he had eyes like mine.
Those were questions I had learned to live without answering.
Now Warren Sterling was sitting beside me.
Looking at me with an expression I couldn't explain.
And talking about letters concerning our connection.
A thought entered my mind.
I rejected it immediately.
It was too much.
Too strange.
I was in labor.
My son might be in danger.
I couldn't begin questioning everything I had believed about my family.
But the thought wouldn't leave.
"Mr. Sterling."
My voice sounded unsteady.
"Why do you keep looking at me that way?"
He lowered his eyes.
For the first time since arriving at my house, he seemed unable to speak immediately.
I waited.
Then another contraction began.
The pain interrupted us.
I gripped the side of the stretcher.
My questions disappeared.
My fear for the baby returned with full force.
I struggled to breathe through the contraction.
Warren stayed close without interfering with the medical team.
I heard someone speaking about my condition.
I heard the word urgent.
It frightened me.
I wanted them to hurry.
I wanted Harborview to appear immediately.
When I could speak again, I looked toward the medical responder.
"Please help my baby."
The answer was calm.
They were doing everything they could to get us the care we needed.
I held onto those words.
Then I turned back to Warren.
He was watching me with tears in his eyes.
I couldn't understand how my pain could affect him so deeply.
He had only just found me.
At least, that was what he kept saying.
Found me.
As though I were someone he had been afraid he would never see.
I noticed his hands shaking.
He tried to steady them by clasping them together.
It didn't work.
For a man known for his control, he looked completely overwhelmed.
"Are you all right?"
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He gave a small, surprised laugh.
I suppose it was strange.
I was the one lying on a stretcher.
I was the one experiencing a medical emergency.
And I had asked whether he was all right.
He shook his head.
"Not entirely."
His answer was quiet.
Then he looked directly at me.
"I never expected our first meeting to happen like this."
Our first meeting.
The words stayed with me.
I realized he wasn't simply speaking as my husband's employer.
He believed this moment belonged to both of us.
He had come to find me.
Not to discuss Vance.
Not to handle a company matter.
Me.
I thought about the two letters.
The investigator.
The long search.
His eyes.
His voice when he called me his girl.
I could no longer pretend those details were unrelated.
"Who am I to you?"
I asked the question softly.
Warren looked at me.
His face changed in a way I would remember for years.
The sadness remained.
But there was relief beneath it.
As though the question had finally given him permission to speak.
He reached toward my hand.
Then stopped.
I understood what he was asking without words.
I held out my fingers.
He took them gently.
"Natalie."
His voice trembled.
"I believe you're my daughter."
I stared at him.
I had spent my life believing my father was a man who had walked away before I was born.
A man who had never wanted to know me.
A man who existed only as an absence in my family history.
Now Warren Sterling was telling me that absence had a name.
A face.
A voice.
And hands that were trembling as they held mine.
I wanted to ask a hundred questions.
I wanted to know about my mother.
I wanted to know why he had never come.
I wanted to know whether Aunt Ruth had understood the truth.
I wanted to know how a man could search for a daughter for so long without finding her.
But before I could say any of those things, a medical responder spoke.
We were approaching Harborview.
My body tightened with another painful contraction.
The questions about Warren would have to wait.
I looked at him one last time before the medical team began preparing for our arrival.
He was still holding my hand.
I didn't know whether I could call him my father yet.
I didn't know whether I was ready to believe that my life had changed in such an enormous way.
But I believed one thing.
When I asked Vance to help me, he had chosen to stay away.
When Warren discovered where I was, he had come through the rain.
And now, as the ambulance carried me toward the hospital, he was still beside me.
I held onto his hand.
Not because I understood everything.
Because for the first time that evening, someone had made me feel that I mattered enough to stay.
