The night before the surgery, William returned to the townhouse for an hour. He sat on the edge of Leo’s bed, watching the toddler sleep, clutching a plush dog.
Victoria stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, holding herself together.
“You have to come back,” she whispered.
William stood and walked to her. He didn’t try to touch her; he just looked at her with the raw honesty. “I plan to. But the doctors said there’s a risk.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed letter. “If my heart stops… if I don’t make it… don’t let Malcolm think I did this out of pity. He’s spent his whole life thinking he was the spare part.”
William placed the letter in Victoria’s hand. “Make him understand that I did this because he’s my brother. Make sure he knows he was loved.”
Victoria took the letter, tears streaming down her face. “I won’t give it to him,” she promised fierce determination. “Because you’re going to tell him yourself.”