FROM: Rylee Hampton

TO: Jamison Dawes

CC:

SUBJECT: Read Me. DO NOT DELETE.

 

 

JD,

 

It’s taken me this long to find you, please don’t delete this. I couldn’t get a phone number for you, and it turns out you’re impossible to track down in person. No one would let me just saunter up to a bigshot like you. Anyway, the point, sorry. You remember like six months ago you went to that tech expo in Santa Clara? The hotel. The bar. There was a woman in your seat.

Please tell me you remember. You said that you would.

This isn’t the best way to tell you, I know. I don’t mean to be landing this on you, but there’s no other way to do it. I considered not telling you at all. Finding you was such a struggle, like fate didn’t want you to know. I had no idea you were a billionaire overachiever. I didn’t know that. That’s not why I’m telling you. I’m telling you because it’s the right thing to do. Because one day we might need you or you might need us and… I wouldn’t want you to find out another way if something happened to me or, you know, anything.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve talked myself into and out of this. Writing the word is difficult. You must think I’m some kind of nut rambling away. Six months go by without a word. We went our separate ways, and that was supposed to be that.

It was that. Finished. Except it wasn’t. That higher power you mentioned has a cruel sense of humor. You said I put myself in your path and I’m about to do it again. Don’t take that to mean I want anything from you. I don’t. This is merely an exchange of information. It would be good to know you got this message. So I know you know. Which I guess means I have to say it. Okay. Here goes. I’m pregnant.

Is there a word a guy dreads hearing more? Probably not. I can’t say I was over the moon when I found out either. I wasn’t sad or angry, just shocked. I think I still am to be honest. As it turns out, it’s twins. Congratulations. Shit, I don’t mean that to come across wrong. You’re entitled to be mad, but you have to know I didn’t do this on purpose. There’s no way I could’ve known.

Again, please, be assured, I don’t want anything. Not a cent. If you want to be a part of their lives, that’s something we can talk about. This is not about money. One day they’ll be old enough to ask who their father is. I don’t want to lie. I don’t want them living in the dark. The whole wide world doesn’t need to know. They’ll have my last name, and I haven’t told anyone, not a soul. No one needs to know. I don’t have siblings and my parents are gone. Well, my mom’s gone, and I haven’t seen my father for years.

That’s not important. This is all you have to know: you’re going to be a father to twins. A boy and a girl. You hit the jackpot twice in one night.

You probably don’t feel very lucky right now and you have the right to discuss this with the people in your life. Equally, if you want to delete this and forget you ever read it, I’ll understand. I won’t put you on the birth certificate. There won’t be child support. I’m capable and happy to raise our children alone. I’ve been doing it for six months. Already they are my priority. Once you get over the shock, it will be easier to deal with. It’s a switch in mindset, but, sorry, you don’t have to think about that.

I wanted to tell you and to say thank you. These children are my life. I’ll make them my life. It wasn’t intentional, but I can’t call my babies an accident. For some reason, this happened, and I’ll deal with it.

Reply if you want to talk about this. If I never hear from you again, I’ll accept that and won’t pursue or embarrass you. Thank you for reading this.

 

—Rylee Hampton