Chapter 32 First Letter From Lucas
Lara's pov
The letter arrived on a Tuesday.
Two weeks after Lucas's voicemail. Two weeks of me jumping every time my phone rang.
I was in my home office working on quarterly reports when Damien walked in with the mail.
He stopped in the doorway and stood there holding a stack of envelopes.
"What?" I asked.
He didn't say anything. He just walked over and set the mail on my desk.
On top of it was a white envelope with prison letterhead.
Millbrook Correctional Facility.
Lucas Ward. Inmate #847293.
My stomach dropped.
"You don't have to open it," Damien said quietly.
I stared at the envelope like it might explode.
"I know."
"I can throw it away right now. You never have to know what it says."
My hand reached for it anyway.
"What if it's about Ethan? What if there's something I need to know?"
"Then he can tell his lawyer and the lawyer can tell yours."
Damien was right. I knew he was right.
But I picked up the envelope anyway.
The paper was thin. It was a cheap prison stationery.
"Do you want me to stay?" Damien asked.
"No. It's fine. I'll just... I'll read it asap and throw it away."
He looked like he wanted to argue but didn't.
"I'll be downstairs if you need me."
After he left, I sat there staring at the envelope for a full five minutes.
And then I opened it.
The letter was handwritten. Lucas's familiar script, a little messier than I remembered.
Dear Lara,
I know I have no right to write to you. I know you probably don't want to hear from me. But I need to say this. I need you to know.
Every day in this place, I think about what I did to you. To us. To your father. I can't sleep. Can't eat. All I see is your face when I betrayed you.
My mother manipulated me. I see that now. She got in my head, made me believe things that weren't true. Made me think money and status mattered more than love.
I was wrong. About everything.
But there are things you don't know. Things about that night. The night before I divorced you.
Things about Ethan.
You deserve to know the truth about—
I ripped the letter in half and I ripped it again and again.
Until it was just tiny pieces of paper scattered across my desk.
My hands were shaking. My breathing was fast.
How dare he.
How dare he contact me. How dare he try to manipulate me again with his apologies and his excuses.
And what the hell did he mean about Ethan?
I swept the paper pieces into the trash can.
But even in the trash, I could still see fragments of words.
Truth.
Ethan.
That night.
I wanted to dig them out, tape them back together and read the rest.
Instead I left the office and went to find Damien.
He was in the kitchen making coffee.
"What did it say?" he asked without turning around.
"Nothing important.Just apologies,excuses and the usual."
"Did he mention Ethan?"
I hesitated too long.
Damien turned to look at me.
"What did he say about Ethan?"
"I don't know. I didn't finish it."
"Good."
"He said something about the truth. About that night."
Damien's jaw tightened.
"He's lying. Trying to get under your skin."
"I know."
But I didn't know. Not really.
What truth could Lucas possibly have?
Damien handed me a cup of coffee.
"Don't let him in your head. That's what he wants."
"I know."
"He's manipulated you before. Don't let himm do it again."
"I won't."
Another lie.
Because Lucas was already in my head.
—--
One week later, another letter came.
I was in the kitchen with Ethan.It was on a Saturday morning. He was eating cereal and telling me about his friend Tyler's new puppy.
The mail slot clanged.
Ethan jumped up. "I'll get it!"
"Finish your breakfast first." I said.
But he was already running to the front door.
He came back with a handful of envelopes and magazines.
"Here, Mommy."
I took them. Flipped through quickly.
It was bill, advertisement and magazine.
And another white envelope with prison letterhead.
My heart sank.
"What's that one?" Ethan asked, pointing at the letter in my hand.
"Just junk mail, sweetheart."
"It has a stamp. Real mail isn't junk."
He was too smart for his own good.
"This kind is," I said, forcing a smile.
I threw it in the trash under the sink.
Ethan went back to his cereal, already distracted by something else.
But I couldn't stop looking at the trash can.
That night, after everyone was asleep, I went back downstairs.
Dug the envelope out from under coffee grounds and banana peels.
I sat at the kitchen table and stared at it for an hour.
Then I threw it away again.
Unopened.
\---
Three weeks after the first letter, a third one arrived.
I was at work this time. My assistant Sarah brought in the mail.
"Here you go, Ms. Otto."
She set the stack on my desk.
I saw the prison envelope immediately.
Sarah saw my face.
"Should I start screening your mail?" she asked gently.
"No, it's fine."
"That's the third one this month from the same address."
"I said it's fine."
Sarah hesitated. "You don't have to accept these, you know. I can return them unopened."
"Just leave it. Please."
After she left, I picked up the envelope.and turned it over in my hands.This was getting ridiculous.
Lucas wasn't going to stop. I could see that now.
He was going to keep writing and keep trying to get my attention.
Keep saying things about Ethan that I didn't understand.
I opened the letter.
Just the first paragraph. That's all I'd read.
Lara,
I know you're not reading these. I know you are probably throwing them away. But I have to keep trying.
Ethan deserves to know the truth about where he came from. You deserve to know.
That night before our divorce. You weren't just with me. There was someone else. And I think you know that.
I think you remember waking up in that hotel room.
I think you remember—
I stopped reading it.My hands were shaking so hard the paper rattled.
How did he know about the hotel?
How did he know I woke up somewhere I didn't recognize?
I'd never told anyone except Damien. And even with Damien, I barely remembered details.
Just fragments,a strange room,sunlight through unfamiliar curtains. The smell of cologne I didn't recognize.
And panic.
I called my lawyer.
Margaret picked up on the second ring.
"Lara. What's wrong?"
"He won't stop writing to me."
"Lucas?"
"He sends letters every week. Sometimes twice a week."
"What do they say?"
"Things about Ethan. About that night at the gala. Things he shouldn't know."
Margaret was quiet for a moment.
"This is harassment. We can get a restraining order. Stop all contact."
"Can we do that? He's in prison."
"Prisoners have rights to correspondence, but not unlimited. Not if it's causing you distress. Which it clearly is."
"What if there's something real? Something I actually need to know?"
"Then it can go through official channels. Through lawyers and not directly to you."
That actually made sense.
So why was I hesitating?
"Lara," Margaret said carefully. "This is textbook manipulation. He's baiting you. Trying to make you doubt yourself. Doubt your memories. This is what abusers do."
"I know."
"Do you want me to file the order?"
"I'll think about it."
"Don't think too long."
After I hung up, I sat there staring at the letter.
You weren't just with me. There was someone else.
What did that mean?
Was he saying I cheated?
But I was drugged. Veronica drugged me. I didn't even know what happened that night.
I crumpled the letter and threw it in the trash.
But I didn't call Margaret back.
\---
The fourth letter came one week later.
I opened it the second it arrived.
This one was longer. Three pages in Lucas's messy handwriting.
Lara,
I'm going to tell you everything. Even if you hate me for it. Even if you never forgive me.
I know about the hotel. I know Veronica drugged you at the gala. I know you ended up in someone else's room that night.
I found out later. After we were already divorced. Veronica told me when she was drunk one night. She thought it was funny.
She drugged you to humiliate you. To make you look bad. But she didn't count on you ending up in a stranger's room.
Did you ever wonder why Damien was so quick to take you in? So eager to help?
Did you ever wonder how he found you that night on the street? How he just happened to buy property right where you were sleeping?
Count backwards from Ethan's birth, Lara. Do the math.
That last night we were together. The night I came home smelling like Lisa's perfume. That was December 18th.
Ethan was born September 3rd.
That's only eight and a half months.
But the gala was November 20th.
Nine and a half months before Ethan was born.
I'm not saying this to hurt you. I'm saying this because you deserve the truth.
Ethan might not be mine.
He might not even be ours.
The letter fell from my hands.
I couldn't breathe.
September 3rd,November 20th,December 18th.
The dates swam in my head.
I'd never done the math before. Never thought to.
Ethan came early. That's what I always told myself. Premature by a few weeks.
But what if he wasn't?
What if Lucas was right?
I felt sick.And honestly, I actually felt physically sick.
I ran to the bathroom and threw up.
\---
That evening, after Ethan was in bed, I showed Damien the letter.
He read it in silence. His face getting harder with every line.
When he finished, he looked up at me.
"This is sick."
"Is it true? Were you at that hotel?"
"What? No. Lara, you can't believe this."
"I don't know what to believe! I don't remember that night!"
"Because you were drugged. By his sister. He admits that right here."
Damien pointed at the letter.
"But what if there's more?" My voice was rising. "What if I did end up in someone's room? What if something happened that I don't remember?"
"Then it wasn't your fault. You were drugged and unconscious."
"But Ethan—"
"Is your son. Our son. That's all that matters."
"What if Lucas is right about the timing?"
"He's not."
"But the dates—"
"Mean nothing. Babies come early. You know that."
"What if he didn't come early? What if the gala was—"
"Stop." Damien grabbed my shoulders. "Stop letting him do this to you. This is what he wants. He wants you confused and scared and doubting everything."
"I just need to know the truth."
"The truth is that Lucas is a liar who's spent the last five years manipulating you. Why would that stop now?"
He was right.
I knew he was right.
But the dates kept spinning in my head.
November 20th,December 18th, September 3rd.
What if Lucas wasn't lying?
What if Ethan really wasn't his son?
And if Ethan wasn't Lucas's son, then whose son was he?
\---
That night I couldn't sleep.
I went downstairs and pulled out all four letters.
Laid them out on the kitchen table.
Read them fully. Start to finish.
Lucas was building a case. Piece by piece.
Letter one: planted doubt about Ethan.
Letter two: mentioned the hotel.
Letter three: brought up the dates.
Letter four: put it all together.
He was saying Ethan wasn't his biological son.
That someone else was in that hotel room with me.
That the timing matched the gala, not our last night together.
And he was implying that Damien knew.
That Damien had been lying to me all along.
I looked up at the ceiling.
Damien was sleeping in our bedroom right above me.
The man I loved. The man who saved me. The man who'd been a father to Ethan since birth.
Would he lie to me?
Could he?
I didn't want to believe it.
But Lucas's words kept echoing.
Did you ever wonder why Damien was so quick to help?
How he just happened to find you?
Count the dates.
I put my head in my hands.
I wasn't going to get the restraining order.
I needed to keep reading the letters.
Because I needed to know the truth.
Even if the truth destroyed everything.
\---
One week later, the fifth letter arrived.
I opened it immediately.I stood right there by the mailbox and tore it open.
This one was short and just one paragraph.
Lara,
I hired a private investigator. I know who was in that hotel room with you that night.
His name is Damien Otto.
And I have proof.
The letter slipped from my hands and landed on the ground.
I looked up.
Through the window, I could see into the kitchen.
Damien was making Ethan's lunch.Laughing at something our son said.
They looked so happy.
So perfect.
Like a real family.
And I wondered if the man I loved had been lying to me all along.