Inside were two bundles of letters.
It would have been easier to hate him if he had.
Eric opened the box.
Inside were two bundles of letters.
One carried my name.
The other carried his.
“Who are you to Nathan?”
Beneath them were documents leaving us joint ownership of Millie’s Diner.
I looked at him.
“Who are you to Nathan?”
Eric’s jaw tightened.
“His son.”
That hurt in a different place.
Nathan had panicked when she became pregnant.
Eric explained that Nathan had married years after leaving my mother.
Nathan had panicked when she became pregnant, left town, and returned months later claiming he wanted to help. By then, my mother wanted nothing from him.
He sent letters for years.
She returned them unopened.
Eric grew up in Nathan’s house but rarely saw tenderness from him.
His later attempts did not erase the first choice he made.
He had still left.
Eric grew up in Nathan’s house but rarely saw tenderness from him.
“He paid bills,” Eric said. “He attended school meetings. He never asked how I felt unless the answer affected my grades.”
“And you still protected him.”
Eric looked toward the window.
“Then you arrived with coffee, and he became someone I had wanted my entire life.”
“He had never trusted me with anything emotional before. When he told me about you, I thought he was finally treating me like his son.”
He swallowed.
“Then you arrived with coffee, and he became someone I had wanted my entire life.”
“You resented me.”
“Yes.”
I opened Nathan’s letter that night.
“I did not take him from you.”
“I know.”
I glared at him.
He stopped himself.
“No,” he said. “You did not.”
He had raised Eric without warmth.
I opened Nathan’s letter that night.
He admitted he had failed us differently.
He had abandoned me.
He had raised Eric without warmth.
He said he arranged our meeting because he wanted to know whether I could love him before I knew what he had done.
He had asked whether he was convincing.
His regret had become another demand.
Then I reached the final page.
He had asked whether he was convincing.
