Before Tasha.
Before I understood how deeply I’d confused love with fear.
I sat in the attorney’s office, holding the letter, and felt something inside me loosen.
For years, I had believed I was the only person responsible for the way my life had unfolded. I had blamed myself for staying too long with Tasha, for not visiting my mother more often, for working until I was too tired to enjoy the life I was building.
My father had understood something I was only now learning.
A person could work hard, be loyal, and mean well—and still forget how to live.
I called Diane from the parking lot.
When she answered, I couldn’t speak immediately.
“Ethan?”
“I found another letter.”
I told her what it said.
She was silent for a long time.
Then she whispered, “Your father knew you.”
“I wish I’d listened to him sooner.”
“You listened when you were ready.”
