Luke almost refused to go.
“What if she doesn’t want me?”
“Then we’ll respect that.”
“What if she hates me?”
“Then you’ll survive hearing the truth.”
Emma’s parents, Rachel and David, met us in their living room.
“And if she forgot me?”
I couldn’t answer that one.
Emma’s parents, Rachel and David, met us in their living room.
Rachel looked nervous.
David looked ashamed.
She returned carrying a plastic storage bin and set it in front of Luke.
After ten minutes of strained conversation, Rachel went upstairs.
She returned carrying a plastic storage bin and set it in front of Luke.
“What is this?” he asked.
“Letters.”
She opened the lid.
Every one had Luke’s name on it.
Envelopes filled the box.
Every one had Luke’s name on it.
Luke picked one up.
The handwriting was childish.
LUKE.
“She wrote back?”
His face changed.
“She wrote back?”
“Yes.”
“All this time?”
Rachel started crying.
“We kept thinking we’d send them once things felt more stable.”
“Your letters came through to us. At first, everyone thought limiting direct contact might help Emma settle. She kept writing replies anyway.”
Luke stared into the box.
“Then why didn’t I get them?”
Rachel wiped her eyes.
Don’t miss
Luke opened one letter.
“We kept thinking we’d send them once things felt more stable. Then too much time passed, and admitting we’d waited so long became harder.”
David looked down.
“We should have fixed it.”
Luke opened one letter.
A girl appeared on the staircase.
Then another.
