Each marked with a year.
ONE
TWO
THREE
All the way to:
EIGHTEEN
Hannah finally spoke.
“What are those?”
Daniel’s voice shook.
“Birthday letters.”
“To Rosie?”
He shook his head.
“To you.”
Hannah looked at him.
“I wrote one every year.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother wasn’t ready to tell you.”
I flinched.
Daniel corrected himself.
“Because we weren’t brave enough to tell you.”
He picked up the first envelope.
“I didn’t know when you’d learn about Rosie. But I was afraid that when you did, you’d think we’d erased her.”
His eyes filled.
“Or that we’d erased part of you.”
Hannah stared at the eighteen envelopes.
“You wrote to me about her?”
“Yes.”
“Every year?”
“Yes.”
“What did you write?”
“Whatever I remembered.”
He smiled through tears.
“Sometimes almost nothing.”
“Like what?”
“The way you slept facing each other.”
His voice broke.
“How Rosie always managed to get one hand out of her blanket.”
He touched the chest.
“How you sneezed and she startled.”
A tear finally slid down Hannah’s cheek.
Daniel continued.
“I wrote about your birthday too. Your first word. Kindergarten. The year you broke your arm. Your first dance recital.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed somewhere that both my daughters could exist at the same time.”
