But I also knew that part of the foundation had been built on a lie.
I wiped my eyes.
Then I read the next paragraph.
Years ago, I tried to find Anna.
I wanted to apologize.
I found her.
But I was too afraid to tell you.
I told myself there would be another opportunity.
There wasn’t.
Life kept moving.
Children came.
Bills came.
Holidays.
Birthdays.
Ordinary mornings.
And somehow thirty-six years disappeared.
But I never forgot what I had done.
I looked at Anna.
She was crying too.
I continued reading.
When the doctors told me I was dying, I finally understood that I couldn’t take this secret with me.
But I also couldn’t tell you myself.
I was afraid that you would hate me.
So I asked you to find Anna.
Not because I wanted you to leave me behind.
Not because I wanted you to return to the past.
