Chapter 25 - The Call at 2:17 A.M.
Three years later, Victor received a call from federal prison.
Raymond Davis was dying.
Pancreatic cancer.
He had requested Victor.
Hannah woke as Victor sat on the edge of the bed.
“Who?”
“Raymond.”
She understood immediately.
“Do you want to go?”
“No.”
“Then don’t.”
Victor stared at his hands.
“He asked about Matthew.”
“That doesn’t mean Matthew owes him anything.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Victor looked over.
“I think so.”
He went alone.
Raymond looked tiny in the prison hospital bed.
No expensive suit.
No menace.
Just an old man connected to machines.
“You came.”
Victor stood near the door.
“Why did you ask?”
Raymond smiled weakly.
“Still efficient.”
“What do you want?”
“To see Matthew.”
“No.”
“Victor.”
“No.”
“I’m dying.”
“That does not give you access to my son.”
Raymond coughed.
“You sound like Sofia.”
Victor froze.
“You barely knew her.”
“She visited me once.”
“When?”
“Before Dominic died.”
Victor stepped closer.
“Why?”
“To ask me to protect Matthew if anything happened to you.”
Victor’s chest tightened.
“She knew about the trust?”
“No.”
“She knew the family.”
That made sense.
Raymond looked toward the ceiling.
“She told me something.”
“What?”
“That one day you would choose Matthew over all of us.”
Victor swallowed.
“She was right.”
“Yes.”
“Did you hate her?”
“No.”
Raymond’s eyes filled.
“That was the problem.”
Victor sat.
For the first time, he saw not an enemy but another damaged man raised by the same family.
Raymond whispered:
“Dominic and I were boys once.”
Victor said nothing.
“We were afraid of our father.”
“What did he do?”
“What fathers like him do.”
Raymond closed his eyes.
“We promised each other we would be different.”
Victor felt sick.
“How did you become worse?”
“Slowly.”
That answer stayed with him.
Raymond reached toward the bedside table.
A nurse handed Victor an envelope.
“For Matthew.”
Victor did not take it.
“What is it?”
“Apology.”
“He doesn’t need it.”
“No.”
Raymond breathed painfully.
“I do.”
Victor understood.
“That’s not his responsibility.”
Raymond laughed weakly.
“You really did change.”
Victor stood.
“Goodbye, Raymond.”
“Victor.”
He stopped.
“I am sorry.”
Victor looked back.
“For what?”
“Everything.”
Victor considered the words.
Then answered honestly.
“I believe you.”
Raymond’s eyes filled with relief.
“I still don’t forgive you.”
The relief remained.
“I know.”
Raymond died two days later.
Victor returned home.
Matthew, now thirteen, asked:
“Did he say anything?”
“He apologized.”
“Did you forgive him?”
“No.”
Matthew nodded.
“Okay.”
Victor looked surprised.
“That’s all?”
“You said forgiveness belongs to the person who was hurt.”
“Yes.”
“So it’s yours.”
Victor hugged him.
Later, Hannah found the unopened letter.
“What will you do?”
“Give it to Matthew when he’s older.”
“Good.”
She leaned against him.
“Are you sad?”
“Yes.”
“For Raymond?”
Victor thought.
“For the boy he probably was.”
May you like
Hannah understood.
Some tragedies did not require forgiveness to be mourned.
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