Yesterday, Dad came to see me. He asked me questions about Clara’s condition. He asked how much the doctors knew and whether there were other options. He seemed angry when I told him there weren’t.
My heart began pounding.
Then he said something strange. He told me I should think carefully before I become a donor.
I looked up.
Daniel’s face was pale.
“What?”
He nodded slowly.
“Keep reading.”
I did.
I asked him why. He wouldn’t explain. He just said, ‘Some things are better left alone.’
My fingers tightened around the paper.
Then came the sentence that made everything inside me stop.
Mom, I don’t know what he means. But I don’t think he wants me to go through with this.
Clara covered her mouth.
I read the next paragraph.
I’m telling you because if anything happens to me, I don’t want you thinking I was confused or pressured. I made my choice because Clara is my sister. Nobody forced me. Nobody manipulated me. I want you to know that.
Tears blurred the page.
Then:
But I also want you to know that Dad frightened me today.
I couldn’t read for several seconds.
Then I forced myself onward.
If I don’t make it through, please don’t spend your life looking for someone to blame. Please raise Clara. Tell her I loved her. And if you ever meet Daniel again, tell him I kept my promise.
The letter ended there.
I stared at the final sentence.
“What promise?”
Daniel finally spoke.
“He promised me something the night before the surgery.”
“What?”
“That he wouldn’t let you see him scared.”
I looked at him.
Daniel’s eyes were wet.
“He was terrified, Margaret.”
That sentence broke something inside me.
For thirteen years, I had imagined Ethan walking into that hospital room without fear.
Strong.
Certain.
Brave.
But he had been eighteen.
Just a boy.
My boy.
And he had been afraid.
Yet he had gone through with it anyway.
Clara sat beside me.
“Mom, what happened to Dad?”
I didn’t know.
For thirteen years, I had told myself that his disappearance was simply another wound I couldn’t heal.
But now there was a question buried inside Ethan’s final letter.
A question that had been waiting for us.
Daniel took out his phone.
“I found him.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“Your ex-husband.”
My heart dropped.
“Where?”
“Three years ago, I started looking.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t forget Ethan’s letter.”
He showed me a photograph.
A man standing outside a small house.
Older.
Heavier.
But unmistakably Clara’s father.
“Where is he?”
Daniel gave me an address.
Clara stared at the photograph.
“That man is my father?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he leave?”
Daniel shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
We found him two days later.
His name was David.
He opened the door and stared at us.
When he saw me, his expression changed.
Then he saw Clara.
He nearly collapsed.
“Clara?”
She didn’t move.
For several seconds, father and daughter simply looked at each other.
Then David whispered,
“You look just like him.”
