Isabella,
If this letter has found its way into your hands,you must know the truth about who I am. And I must be gone. I've written and rewritten this letter in my head thousands of times, and now that I've actually sat down to write it, I don't know what to say.
I guess I should start off by telling you about myself, but I don't really know how to go about that either. I'm sure your mother told you about the kind of family I grew up in. It wouldn't be like Michelle to hold anything back, no matter how much the truth may hurt.
Being a Santos isn't a fate I would wish on anyone. It's a fate almost destined to be cold, lonely, and violent.
Only my sister, Pilar, escaped that fate and that was only because she was smart enough to get as far away from us as she could when she was very young.
To be honest, my childhood wasn't all that bad. I grew up having no idea what my family was. I adored my father and was spoiled by my mother. My older brother, Mick, and I were given everything any child could want. We had the best education money could buy, we went on expensive vacations. Everything.
Then, when I was twelve, my father was killed. Shot down by a rival family. It's funny how you can look back on certain moments and pinpoint them as events that forever changed your life. I've had only three such moments: The day I met your mother, the day I met you, and the night my father was murdered.
After that, everything changed. My mother had always been a little rough around the edges. Papa grew up with money and a powerful name. Mama grew up as Carmen Mediero, dirt poor and illegitimate, in some back alley. She had always been brash and aggressive. Maybe that's what Papa loved about her. But after he died, Mama took her job as head of the family very seriously. She was so afraid that we would lose everything we had, that her children would grow up as she had. She was terrified that word would get out that we'd been weakened. If anything, we grew stronger under my mother. Stronger, but more deadly.
Mick was the oldest, but from the time I was fourteen, it was clear that I was meant to ascend to to the position of power in our family.
Mick hated me for that.
I was the model son. I went to college, aced my classes, and thought of little else but ensuring my family's survival.
Mick went the other way. Angry that he'd been looked over, he became little more than a thug. He started dealing drugs in a local nightclub, which got him thrown in jail.
Mick hated being bested. Once, when I was eighteen, I made the mistake of correcting him at the dinner table when he stated that three shipments( "family business") had come in earlier that day. The number was actually thirty and I said so. Before I had so much as a chance to blink, Mick was over the table, a butter knife at my throat. The weapon was hardly threatening, but the look of rage in his eyes scared the hell out of me.
So he went after the person who had turned him in, the nightclub's owner, Drew something-or-other. Luckily for Drew, Michelle was there too. Mick turned on her and, in self-defense, she killed him.
Michelle and Drew panicked and ran. Mick's body washed out with the tide.
I still remember when Mama, sobbing, came into my bedroom and told me Mick was dead. I held her while she cried, but inside, I felt nothing. I was numb. Mick may have been my brother, and I did love him, but his death was hardly a surprise. People like Mick don't live long.
When Mama told me that it would be me, not some family thug, that would have to find and "eliminate" Mick's murderer, I thought I was going to be sick. I wasn't stupid. I knew how my family operated. I'd seen the fear in people's eyes as we passed. But in all my imaginings of taking over the Santos family, I had never thought of what it would be like to look someone in the eye and shoot them dead.
I pushed that thought aside when I went looking or Mick's killer.
Immediately, my search centered on the four people who had spent the most time with Mick when he worked at the club. Drew, Bill Lewis, Jesse Blue, and Michelle.
I was awful to your mother at first, Isabella. I practically stalked her. I was so convinced that her boyfriend, Jesse, had killed my brother and I knew if anyone would slip up and tell the truth, it would be Michelle. That's what I told myself at the time. I kept lying to myself, saying that the only reason I was following her, the only reason I kissed her, the only reason I felt this need to be with her, was to unnerve her and find out the truth.
She was the most fascinating woman I had ever known. And, to be quite frank, I had known a lot of women. I had always been able to read people the moment I met them. And I sure thought I had Miss Michelle Bauer pegged. Pure,untouched, good, prim...everything that went along with being the beloved youngest Bauer.
And she was all those things, Isabella. But she was also fiery,bossy, stubborn, and proud. It was that contrast that drew me to her. That side that I guessed few had ever seen.
She became all I thought about.
When I found out she killed Mick, the fury, the anguish, nearly blinded me. I took her down to the docks, trying to talk myself into doing what had to be done.
I held a gun to her head, yelled at her, threatened her. And what did she do? She looked straight at me and told me she wouldn't beg for her life and that if I was going to kill her, I'd have to do it staring into her face.
It was that moment that I knew I loved her.
Everything came together in one painful flash. This woman standing before me, with her head thrown back and her gaze unflinching, was the woman I was meant to be with forever. And since the gods have a wicked sense of humor, she was also the woman that had killed my brother.
I wish I could tell you my plan to marry her was pure and unselfish and giving.
Truth is, I wanted her for my own. Marrying her solved two problems at once.
That first month was hell. We fought constantly. I knew Michelle despised me. I could see it in her eyes. To love someone that hates you is one of the greatest pains on earth, you know. I only hope that you never have to experience it.
Our second wedding changed everything. Michelle would tell me later that's when she felt things were different as well. After that, we lived in a strange sort of peace. We weren't husband and wife in the traditional sense, but we had a marriage. We ate dinner together every night. She woke me up in the morning and I helped her study. She made me laugh and I held her at night whenever she had a bad dream. For awhile, I deluded myself that we had a chance.
Then she told me about the FBI.
I guess she told you all about that. How I insisted on an annulment, how she begged me to make our marriage work, how cruel I was to her as I attempted to shatter her dreams of a life with me.
That was such a dark time. It was like I was standing outside myself, watching as my life spun totally out of control. That night that she called me and asked me to come over, I tried to resist. I knew why she wanted me to come to her house. And I knew if I actually went, I'd never be able to do what I should do when she looked up at me with those beautiful eyes and asked me to stay the night with her: leave.
But that night, I didn't want to do the sensible thing. I was sick of being Danny Santos, heir to the Santos crime family. That night, I wanted to be Michelle's husband.
And I was.
Isabella, that night, that wonderful night that created you, was like something in a dream. For one night, I was able to see what my life would have been like if I wasn't a Santos. It was so simple. I loved Michelle and she loved me. All the conflicts, all the reasons why we couldn't be together, melted away for one night.
On the plane to California the next morning, all I could hear was her voice and the feel of her hair was still on my fingers. She was everywhere I looked. I knew it was for the best. I knew Michelle had no place in my life. But knowing that didn't make the pain any less.
I'm ashamed of the man I was those next seven years, Isabella. I was cruel and ruthless and made no effort to turn the business legitimate.
I drank too much. Women became objects to me. I hated myself.
Business was good. I became a very wealthy man during that time. I even almost got married. Her name was Maria and she was a friend of my sister's. She was as cool and distant as your mother was warm and kind, as dark and voluptuous as Michelle was blonde and slender.
But that didn't stop me from calling her Michelle so many times that she eventually left me.
After seven years in California, I got a call from my mother. She was ridiculously proud of me. After all, I had proved myself as her son. So she wanted me to come back and start running the business. At first, I refused. I knew Michelle had left Springfield, but the idea of going back to the place where I was the happiest at a time when I was so miserable made me shudder.
Then the masochist in me raised his head and I agreed.
I had to go back there. It was self-punishment, what I deserved for being such a bastard.
I even slept in the bedroom I'd once shared with Michelle when I got back. After seven years, her scent was still on the pillow.
When I saw her that day in the park, I thought I was dreaming. Or maybe I'd gone crazy. I actually welcomed the idea of insanity, as long as it meant I got to see her.
But she was real. She was so real. When I hugged her, it was like nothing had changed, no time had passed. When she said she got married, I felt like someone was slowly strangling me. Then she said she had a daughter and the pressure on my throat increased tenfold.
You ran up then, beautiful and direct, shaking my hand and introducing yourself. I didn't really look at you. I was seeing you through a haze of pain. It wasn't until I realized your name was Isabella, my grandmother's name, that I truly looked at you and saw my eyes.
You were my daughter.
Oh, God, even now, so many years later, I can feel that burst of joy at knowing you were mine.
I wanted to know everything about you. Even the little things that seem so pointless to most people. But everything you did was precious to me. And when you ran into my arms, it took all the strength I had not to cry. I just wanted to hold you forever. I had loved Michelle so much and to see such concrete and beautiful proof of that love took my breath away. For a brief, crazy moment, I imagined taking your your mother's hand and scooping you up and running away with you both. We'd go somewhere were they'd never find us, where the sordidness of my life couldn't touch us.
Then Michelle gave me a picture of you, the same picture that sits on my mantle now. You were looking up, smiling, your hands covered with fingerpaint held up in front of you. So happy. So safe.
And I realized my life couldn't suit you either. A picture of you, laying in my arms, shot dead by some rival family that wanted to hurt me, flashed through my mind.
I looked back at the picture of you painting. I thought of the man you called "Daddy" and how much you must love him and how much he must have adored you.
So I let you, and Michelle, go.
And again, my life changed.
Being your father changed everything for me, Isabella. I knew I'd be damned before I made you ashamed of me, even if you never knew who I was. My mother had left me in charge of the family, thinking I would run it as she had.
Instead, I worked my fingers to the bone making the Santos business an honest industry.
And I did.
I won't go into the business details. Just know that the Santos family will never again be a crime family and our name will no longer strike fear into anyone's heart. I thank God for that.
I hope you can be proud of me, Bella.
God knows I'm proud of you.
I was there on your wedding day. My heart wrenched as I watched Michelle walk to her place of honor as the mother of the bride. Twenty years had only made her more beautiful. Strangely, I didn't feel regret as I watched her. Only pride that this remarkable woman had once loved me, probably loved me still.
When you walked down the aisle, Bella...I can't even think of words to describe how I felt. You shone so brightly that day. You may favor me in looks, but everything within you is Michelle Bauer Santos Hall.
Your strength, your spirit, your goodness of heart...all of those belong to your mother.
I hope you're happy, Isabella. I hope Alex Hall was a wonderful father to you and gave you everything I wanted to but couldn't.
Don't pity me. My life wasn't empty after I found out about you. Just knowing that Michelle and I had a child out there somewhere was a comfort to me. You gave my life purpose. I love you so much, Bella, that sometime thinking about you made it hard to breathe. I want you to know that.
Michelle was the best thing that ever happened to me. I know that's a cliche, but it's true. Everything I have that's good and true is because of her. And you.
As I write these words, I am nearly seventy years old. I've done a lot of things in those seventy years. And yet, when I look back on my life, the love I shared with your mother is the only thing that stands out, the only thing that matters.
Never let anyone tell you that love can't change your life, Bella. It can. It changed mine.
Most importantly, it gave me you, my beautiful daughter. I have no way of knowing if you'll ever read this letter. But something tells me you will. I hope I'm a man you can be proud to call your father.
I'm going to give this letter to Pilar with the instructions to give this to you only if I'm dead. So when you read this, know I love you and I miss you. And tell Michelle that I'm waiting.
With all my heart,
Your father