if that’s because I need it to or if it actually is.
When I step back and look up at him, his dark chocolate eyes shimmer with unshed tears.
“We have much to discuss.”
I nod.
“I’m sure you have many questions you’d like answers to.”
Again, I nod.
“Shall we go or stay?”
“Stay,” Patrick says firmly.
“Stay,” I repeat.
“Let us get this out of the way first.” He looks behind him, and a man I didn’t even see at first hands him a file. He sets the file down in front of me.
“All pending charges have been dropped. Your name cleared. Your alias gone.” He reaches back and is handed another file that he sets on top of the other then flips it open. “You are Sutton Sawiris, born in your homeland of Saudi Arabia, on the fourteenth day of February. Your mother attended NYU and studied art. I attended there, as well, and majored in International Business. She knew of my faith and knew I was to take four wives, and she would never be one. But we loved each other deeply, so she came to live in a home that I bought for her on the sea in Duba. You were conceived there, born there, loved deeply by two parents there, but when I was to take my first wife, things became difficult for her. She wanted to leave, and I understood, but she was forbidden from taking you, my child, my firstborn. When you were three, we had an elaborate party. You played with your brothers and cousins, and there were many, many family in attendance. No one treated you or Anna any differently, because of legalities. You were always my first family. You were always my favorite, as was Anna.”
He looks back again and is handed an album, which he places over my birth certificate, in a language I can’t read, from a life I don’t remember.
“Please, Sutton, look through the photos and see if you remember me.”
For hours, we talk, and he answers questions, and I try very hard to remember, yet don’t.
I learn that, before my mother died, she contacted him, and he begged her to let him come get me and offered to pay for medical treatment. He told me he knew she had taken pain medication to end her suffering.
No one knew that. No one other than Liberty. But deep down, I knew.
He told her that he loved her still, his first love, and when he said it, I knew he was being sincere.
He told me that, when I was left at Seashore, it was at his insistence. He had hired men to follow me, to ensure that I was kept safe. I now know he paid my bills and that the money in the account, one in which I never touched, one I thought my mother had set up, he actually did.
He was surprised I never used it. And the last thing he told me was that he promised my mother that, until I tried to find him, I would be left alone.
Tomorrow, he will be returning to discuss my future and the options available. Tonight, I lie looking at the ceiling, feeling guilt knot in my stomach because, once again, I am unsure of what to do.
“Don’t go,” Patrick whispers, as if reading my mind. “I know you’re thinking about it, Savvy—”
“Sutton,” I correct.
“Baby, please just finish out high school here, and then you’ll be eighteen, and we can go visit together. I don’t want you to do this alone.”
I squeeze his hand. “I love you. No matter what, I love you.”
“I’ll never stop. Don’t you either.”
The night before I leave, I thank Xavier and Taelyn for their hospitality. I thank them for making such a great human, and I ask them to please forgive me.
Taelyn hugs me but doesn’t say a word, tears filling her eyes. I know she’s worried about him. So am I.
Xavier’s goodbye is different—a hug and a whispered, “See you on the next trip around the moon.”
Patrick went to his room when I told my father I would come to Saudi Arabia with him, and he didn’t come out. That was two days ago.
Whenever I tried to explain, he’d say, “Shut up, Savannah.” Whenever I cried, he held me, but he did so with my back to his chest. When I asked why, he told me he had to get used to seeing me from behind, because I was choosing to walk away from us. I only asked once. And, at