I had spent years attempting to protect my son from the painful details. Yet, as I read on, I realized Caleb had been carrying secrets of his own.
Mom, you always believed Dad died in a random accident. That isn’t the entire story. Three years ago, I stumbled upon his old leather wallet tucked inside Grandma’s storage boxes. Inside rested a snapshot I had never seen before. It portrayed a small child, and written on the back in Dad’s handwriting was a single name: Emily.
The letter fluttered from my hands. “No…” I whispered into the quiet afternoon air.
The woman who had delivered the letter was still standing a short distance away, watching attentively. I picked the letter up from the grass and stood to face her.
“Where did your husband cross paths with mine?” I asked directly.
She froze. “My husband?”
“Yes,” I said. “The father of your daughter.”
The woman averted her eyes. “My husband passed away when Emily turned seven.”
“In an accident?”
She gave a slow nod. “That is what we were led to believe.”
A cold chill swept over me as I returned to Caleb’s letter.
