Within seconds, the tears I’d held back for three long years came pouring down my face.
I read the letter again, hoping I had misunderstood something.
But the words remained the same.
Lucas was alive.
My son, the boy I had searched for through three long years of sleepless nights, was alive. And he had two daughters I had never even known existed.
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I sank into the nearest chair, pressing the letter against my chest as tears streamed down my face.Choose Jackets
“Lucas,” I whispered. “You’re alive. You’re really alive.”
A knock at the door startled me.
When I opened it, a young woman stood on the porch beside a diaper bag. She looked exhausted, and her eyes were red as though she’d been crying, too.
“I’m Hannah,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry. I went back to the car to get their things.”
