Chapter 2: The Envelope He Never Sent
Vincent went to Sarah that same evening.
She opened the door in a paint-stained sweater, Lily balanced on her hip, a small crayon drawing still clutched in the little girl's fist.
When she saw Vincent's face, she went still.
"He's alive," Vincent said quietly.
"But it's time, Sarah."
Sarah stepped back.
She didn't invite him in — she just stepped back, and that was enough.
"How bad?" she asked.
"Bad enough that he's done waiting."
She set Lily down gently, steered her toward the living room, then turned back to Vincent with her arms crossed tight over her chest.
"She asks about him every single day, Vincent.
Every day.
I've run out of answers that don't break my heart to say."
"I know."
"Does he understand what he's walking into?
She's three years old.
She doesn't know what a father is — she only knows the one she draws." Sarah's voice dropped.
"The one with no face."
Vincent didn't answer.
He reached into his jacket and placed a small envelope on the kitchen counter.
"He wanted her to have this.
In case he didn't get the chance to give it himself."
Sarah stared at the envelope.
Her hand moved toward it — then stopped.
Because on the front, in Adrian's handwriting, were two words.
*For Lily.*
And below that, something that made Sarah's breath catch completely.
A date.
Three years old.
The day Lily was born.
He had written it the day she came into the world — and never sent it.
---
What's inside that envelope — and what did Adrian write to a daughter he'd never held?
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The truth is more emotional than anyone expected.
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