“Well, you nearly did.”
I swallowed.
“Did Dad regret it?”
You were protecting yourselves.
“Terribly. He wrote you a letter before he died.”
“The envelope you were looking for?”
She nodded. “I couldn't bring myself to give it to you.”
“Get it, Mom.”
She returned with a sealed envelope.
Even after his death, Dad had one final truth waiting for me.
He wrote you a letter.
I opened it.
“Dad tried to find Michael?”
“During his final months. He got sick before he could.”
I read his words.
“I spent twenty years afraid of losing my daughter. Now I'm afraid I've stolen twenty years from her.”
Dad had one final truth.
“He wanted me to finish what he started.”
“Can you forgive us?”
“I don't know. I love you, but I need time.”
Michael touched my shoulder. “Take all you need.”
I looked at Mom. “Things can't go back to how they were.”
