Maya's POV
Luca's face changed when David told him.
Not dramatically. Just a tightening around the eyes that I'd learned to read as something landing in a place that was already tender.
He hung up and set the phone on the table.
"The note," I said.
"Yes."
I knew what it said. I'd read it over his shoulder in the hotel study. I was always going to let you go. I just didn't know how to say it.
Eleven words written by a man who didn't know how to be what his son needed and had spent four years trying to say so on paper.
"If she publishes it," Luca said.
"Your father reads it in a hospital bed from a newspaper," I finished.
"Or someone reads it to him." He looked at the table. "He wrote that for me. Not for a journalist. Not for a court document or a public record."
"Can David stop
