“Your mother called me Tom.”
“But Mom told me you died,” I whispered.
Arthur lowered his head.
“I didn’t know she’d told you that.”
“She said someone told her years after you left.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you come back?”
“Mom told me you died.”
He sat opposite me.
“Your mother and I were unhappy together. Eventually, we separated.”
“So you left us?”
“I left the marriage, Angel. But I wanted to remain your father.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
He opened the album to a section filled with letters.
“So you left us?”
“I wrote to you.”
I unfolded one.
“Dear Angel,
I hope you’re enjoying school. I saw a yellow ribbon today and remembered how you tied one around your bicycle basket.
I miss you.
Love, Dad.”
I unfolded one.
There were birthday cards and Christmas letters.
Some envelopes had been returned unopened.
