Chapter 8 - The Letter
I was sitting in my favorite armchair, reading a biography of Abraham Lincoln, when the mail arrived. Mixed in with the utility bills was a thick, handwritten envelope forwarded from Evelyn’s office.
I recognized the handwriting immediately. It was Marcus’s messy scrawl.
I set the book down and took a deep breath. I didn't open it right away. I made myself a cup of tea, watched the sun dip behind the red rocks, and prepared my heart.
I slit the envelope open with a butter knife.
Dad,
I don’t know where you are, but I hope you are safe, and I hope you are happy. I am writing this not to ask for forgiveness, because I don't deserve it. I am writing to tell you that you were right.
I am a coward. I let the woman I loved disrespect the man who gave me everything. I stood by while you were pushed into the shadows of my life. When I saw those envelopes on the porch, my first thought was about the money. But when the dust settled, and I was sitting alone in an empty house, I realized the money didn't matter. I had lost my father.
Elena and I are divorcing. I lost the house. I’m living in a small apartment across town, and I’m finally learning what it means to actually support myself. It’s hard, but it’s honest.
You spent your whole life providing for me, and I took it for granted. I am so deeply sorry for the pain I caused you. You don't ever have to speak to me again, and I will understand. But if you ever find it in your heart to let me try to be the son you actually deserve, I will spend the rest of my life proving that I have changed.
I love you, Dad. Marcus.
May you like
I read the letter three times. A single tear slipped down my cheek, dropping onto the ink. It was the first time I had cried since my wife passed away.
The math had changed. Marcus had finally balanced his own ledger.
