Chapter 2: The Letter That Was Never Sent
He was standing at the edge of the garden.
Older.
Thinner.
White-haired.
But I would have known that face in the dark.
My hand hit the glass before I realized I had moved.
"That's not possible," I whispered.
My daughter Carol appeared beside me.
One look at my face and she went still.
"Mom.
Sit down."
"You knew." It wasn't a question.
The way she wouldn't meet my eyes told me everything.
"Carol.
How long have you known?"
She said nothing.
"How long has he been alive?"
She took a slow breath.
"Please don't do this tonight."
"Don't do what?
Ask why the man I spent fifty years grieving is standing in your garden?"
Maya tugged my sleeve.
"Grandpa said he has something to tell you.
He said he tried before.
He said someone wouldn't let him."
Carol's face changed.
I looked at my daughter — truly looked at her — and felt something cold move through me.
"Who stopped him, Carol?"
She stepped back.
"There are things you don't understand."
"Then help me understand.
Right now."
She looked at the window.
Then back at me.
"There's a letter," she said quietly.
"There's always been a letter.
I just…
I wasn't ready for you to read it."
She reached into the drawer beside the door and placed an envelope on the table.
My name was on the front.
Written in Thomas's hand.
The postmark was dated fifty years ago.
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What's inside that letter — and who kept it from her all this time?
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The truth is more heartbreaking than anyone expected.
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