“For years,” I said, “I thought the hardest thing would be making him see them.”
“And?”
“The hardest thing is letting them see him.”
Lena nodded slowly.
Outside my office window, patrol lights moved blue and red across the night.
The next letter drafts came in February.
They were shorter.
Better.
Not perfect.
But human.
Noah,
Your mother told me you asked whether I was the daddy who said you never existed. The truthful answer is yes. I said that because I was afraid, selfish, and wrong. You were real. You mattered. You should have been protected by me, and instead you were protected from me. I am sorry.
I do not expect you to forgive me. I do not expect you to call me Dad. I am going to work on becoming honest enough that, someday, you may feel safe asking me questions.
Daniel Reynolds
I read it three times.
