Heartbeat [Alec Volturi]

Saviour

My sweet Saffiya,

An old friend of mine has a lead on a major job. It could be really good for us, Princess. I promise you, our lives are going to change for the better. Just you wait. See you soon!

Miss and love you,

Dad

See you soon. 

My fingers brushed over the ink. As if the ghost of his pen would somehow bring me closer to him. The handwriting was large and harsh, as if every word that he wrote was a sentence behind the one in his head.

See you soon meant that my father hadn't abandoned me. I was right all along.

See you soon meant that he planned on coming back.

So, why didn't he? The question had been repeating itself in my head all the way from the hostel to the train station in Monte Carlo. But I found that dwelling on the numerous possibilities only made it worse. 

Even so, as I sat beside an overgrown potato on a day bus to Volterra, the question burned in my mind. Along with a multitude of others that the letter's very existence raised, most of which I would never get the answers for. Not long after I had left, Misha called to inform me that the Mother Abbess had died in her sleep and they'd found the letter addressed to me in the bottom of one of her desk drawers.

"I think it's from your father."

I'd been in Monte Carlo for a week, surviving on an elementary understanding of the language and a quickly diminishing supply of money when the letter finally arrived. The Sister had sent it inside a larger envelope and the original letter appeared to have been unopened. It was dated only a few months after he had left me at the abbey and postmarked from some random city in Italy.

See you soon...

Misha had picked up the phone on the fourth ring. "Saffiya! How is Monte Carlo—"

"Did you know?"

"Did I know what?"

"The letter. Di...did you know?"

There was silence on the other line before she answered, "I did."

My legs gave out as I slipped down the wall and crashed to the ground, tugging the phone cord with me. Her words became babble in my ears, a mere buzz of meditative tones that did nothing to ease my pain.

"We were trying to protect you, little one. When there were no other letters, I thought we'd made the right decision, but—"

"I can't..."

"—never meant to hurt you, little one."

"Goodbye, Misha."

"Saffiya — Please!"

My eyes grew cloudy and I dropped the phone, letting it bang against the wall as it hung upside down on its cord. Misha's cries became more desperate as she realized I was no longer listening.

Instead, I was grabbing my bag, checking for my passport, and slamming the door on my way out.

The memory of her disembodied cries rang in my ears. I pushed them aside. I had bigger things to worry about.

I was aware of the odds. It'd been five years since the nuns had received my father's letter. If he never sent another...I shuddered in my seat. I refused to even entertain the obvious answer. Still, I was hesitant.