Page 9
Before we left Cedarcrest Estate, Adrian asked to speak with me.
He handed me an envelope.
“What is this?”
“Something I should have given you eight years ago.”
Inside was a letter.
I opened it.
It was dated the day after he left.
I read it silently.
He had written that he was confused.
That he was afraid.
That he loved me but didn’t know how to trust what he was being told.
He had never sent it.
I looked at him.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Cowardice.”
I folded the letter.
“You could have come back.”
“I know.”
“You could have asked questions.”
“I know.”
“You could have believed me.”
“I know.”
He took a breath.
“I can’t change any of that.”
“No.”
“But I can change what happens next.”
I looked at him.
“What do you want?”
“My sons.”
He corrected himself.
“I want to know them.”
“That isn’t the same as having them.”
“I know.”
“And they aren’t something you get because a DNA test says you’re their father.”
“I know.”
He nodded.
“I don’t expect them to call me Dad tomorrow.”
“They already did.”
He smiled.
“I heard.”
I looked toward the four boys.
“They deserve stability.”
“I’ll give them that.”
“They deserve honesty.”
“I’ll give them that too.”
“And they deserve to know that none of this was their fault.”
His expression became serious.
“I’ll make sure they know.”
I looked at the man standing in front of me.
Eight years ago, I had wanted him to regret leaving.
Now that he did, I realized something.
His regret wasn’t my victory.
My life had already moved forward.
My boys had already grown.
I had already built a home without him.
What mattered now was whether he could become someone worthy of being in their lives.
“Start slowly,” I said.
He nodded.
“How slowly?”
I smiled.
“Christmas lunch.”
He laughed.
“That’s all?”
“For now.”
