*By the time you read this, you’ll have already given someone a part of me.
I need you to know there’s something else I left behind — something I should have told you long before now.*
*Her name is Diane.
We were together for two years before I met you.
We ended things the right way — or I thought we did.
Eight months after we separated, she called to tell me she was pregnant.
She said the baby was mine.*
*I didn’t handle it well.
I was scared.
I told myself she had moved on, that she had people around her, that maybe I was wrong about the timing.
I told myself a lot of things that weren’t true.
What I actually did was nothing.
I stayed away.
I let myself believe it was easier for everyone.*
*His name is Daniel.
He is five years old.
I have never met him.*
*I found out six weeks ago that Diane is sick.
Not the way I am sick — she may recover.
But she has no family nearby, and Daniel has no one else.
I have been trying to figure out how to tell you.
I kept starting and stopping.
I was ashamed.
I am ashamed.*
*I am not asking you to raise him.
I am not asking you to forgive me right away.
I am asking you to make sure he is not alone.
Whatever that looks like.
Whatever you can manage.
I know this is not fair.*
*You are the most decent person I have ever known.
That is not a small thing to say.
It is the reason I am asking.*
*I’m sorry.
I am so sorry.*
*— Mark*
—
I folded the letter along its original creases.
My hands were steady by then, which surprised me.
The doctor was watching me carefully.
“Did you know?” I asked.
“He told me there was a child,” he said.
“He didn’t tell me the details.”
“Did he tell you what he was asking me to do?”
“No.”
