Chapter 12 - THE LETTERS EMMA NEVER SENT
Emma had written Daniel dozens of letters over four years.
She'd never mailed them.
They were stored in a wooden box beneath her bed.
One evening, she brought the box downstairs.
Daniel sat on the sofa.
He looked up.
“What's that?”
Emma swallowed.
“Something I should have shown you a long time ago.”
She opened the box.
Letters.
Photographs.
Ultrasound images.
A tiny hospital bracelet.
Daniel stared.
His eyes filled.
Emma handed him the first letter.
It was dated three months after she left Chicago.
Daniel, today I heard our baby's heartbeat.
His hands began shaking.
He read slowly.
Then another.
Daniel, I think it's a girl.
Another.
Daniel, she kicked today.
Another.
Daniel, I wish you were here.
By the fifth letter, Daniel was crying.
Emma sat beside him.
“I'm sorry.”
He shook his head.
She continued.
“I wanted to tell you.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Then why didn't you?”
Emma swallowed.
“Because I was afraid you'd hate me.”
His face crumpled.
“Emma.”
She began crying.
“I know.”
Daniel looked at the ultrasound photograph.
Then whispered:
“I missed everything.”
Emma nodded.
“Yes.”
For a long time, neither spoke.
Then Daniel took a breath.
“I can't get those years back.”
Emma closed her eyes.
“No.”
He looked at her.
“But I can be here now.”
Emma leaned against him.
For the first time in four years, he put his arm around her.
Not to erase the past.
Not to pretend it hadn't happened.
May you like
But to acknowledge that they were both still here.
And perhaps that was enough to begin.
