Page 25 of The One Who Changed Everything

"Man, I can't even imagine." Nathan leaned in, his voice steady and sympathetic. "You must be feeling all kinds of angry."

"Understatement of the year," I muttered, staring down into my mug as if it held answers. "But there's more than anger, you know? I’m terrified I’ll mess it up. Worried it’s too late. I’m ticked at her mom. But I’m also…really upset that I missed so much. How do I even move forward with that kind of obstacle between us?”

"Look," he said, his tone gentle but firm, "God's given you this chance with your daughter for a reason. It’s easy to focus on what you’ve lost. But what you need to do is think about the gift you’ve been given. A second chance to do things right."

"Second chances, huh?" I mused, rolling the idea around in my mind like one of those smooth pebbles you find by the creek, worn down by years of water rushing over them.

"Exactly." Nathan reached across the table, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "If there is one thing I’ve learned in the last year, it’s that God can take the most hopeless situation and turn it into something that’s not just repaired, but entirely unbroken and stronger than before.”

"Thanks, Nate." His warmth cut through some of the chill that had settled inside me. "I just hope I'm not too late to be the dad Sophia needs."

"Sophia, hmm? As in, Samantha and Sophia?”

I nodded, pressing my lips into a thin line.

“It’s never too late," he assured me with a certainty that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. "Take it from someone who's been there. You've got this, and you've got a whole community behind you—including me."

"Appreciate it," I said, feeling the first stirrings of hope since the news hit me. Sophia. My daughter. The words sounded foreign but right, like a new song you can't help but hum along to, even if you don't yet know the words.

I stood up from the table, Nathan's words echoing in my ears like the distant siren of an engine call. Second chances—the concept felt as elusive as smoke in my hands, but I had to try. But first, I had something else to take care of.

I found myself tapping the screen with a nervous rhythm, heart hammering as I scrolled through contacts until I landed on a name I hadn't sought in years: Jack Sullivan, private investigator. The guy had a knack for digging up what people worked hard to bury. My family had used him for years, and I knew he was the best. He was also the private investigator who had searched for Samantha all those years ago.

"Jack, it's Evan Mercer," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I need your help again."

"Evan?" His tone held a mix of surprise and reluctance. "It's been ages. What is it?”

“Samantha Brown.”

He sighed. “Come on, Evan. I thought you'd moved on from... that woman."

"Sometimes, the past doesn't stay where you leave it," I replied, trying to infuse some humor into the tension knotting my chest.

"Look, Evan…" He hesitated, and I could almost hear him rubbing his jaw the way he did when faced with a conundrum. “I told you I couldn’t find her. I'm not sure I should get involved in old cases... especially ones like yours."

His words struck a chord, and suspicion curled within me like smoke. Why would he hesitate unless something—or someone—had warned him off?

"I found her, Jack.” A laugh escaped. It was crazy when I really thought about it. Years of looking for her and now I’d stumbled into her small town. Of all the gin joints, right? “I found Samantha. And I’m trying to figure out why you didn’t. She was never hiding.”

“We looked, Evan. I told you that,” he insisted.

“Yeah, well. Apparently, you did a terrible job at it. She went to DePauw University, Jack. Not DePaul. But I’ve been thinking about it. You still should have been able to find her. It’s still Indiana.”

“Samantha Brown is a common name, man.”

I slammed a fist down on my counter. “I don’t give a rip how common it is. You were supposed tofind her.”

Silence crackled over the line, thick and telling. Jack wasn’t usually the type to back down, but I could hear it in the way he hesitated. There was something he wasn’t saying.

“You know I did everything I could,” he finally said, but the words rang hollow.

“No, I don’t know that,” I shot back. “I know I gave you every detail I had. I know I paid you well. And I know you—somehow—couldn’t track down a woman who wasn’t even hiding.”

Another pause. A sigh. “Evan, you have to drop it.”

That was it. That was the confirmation I didn’t want but knew was coming.

I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening around the phone. “You got shut down, didn’t you?”

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