Then I cried in the office bathroom where no one could see.
The children received the letters on a rainy Saturday.
We sat together in the living room, all five of us under one enormous blanket because Olivia insisted emotional things required “nesting.”
I gave each child their envelope.
“You don’t have to read it today,” I said.
Noah tore his open immediately.
Sophia read hers twice, lips pressed together.
Ethan asked for a pencil and underlined things.
Olivia leaned against me and whispered, “Can you read mine?”
I did.
Her letter apologized for missing birthdays, first steps, first words, and all the small moments that make love grow roots. Daniel wrote that he had no right to ask for anything, but if Olivia ever wanted to show him a drawing, he would be honored to receive it.
Olivia listened silently.
Then she took the letter and folded it carefully.
