blow.
David Monroe—the charming, unreliable man who’d swept me off my feet in my twenties, married me impulsively, fathered Amber, then vanished when she was five—claiming commitment wasn’t his style.
A criminal fugitive.
It seemed simultaneously shocking and, in retrospect, perfectly aligned with his character.
“Why would my father keep this secret?” I wondered aloud. “Why not tell me—at least?”
“His letter addresses that question,” Jonathan said gently. “I didn’t read it fully. It was clearly personal. But the opening paragraph mentions protecting both you and Amber from painful truths
