“Once. He returned my letter unopened.”
I studied his face. There was no anger in it anymore, only an old sadness that had settled so deeply it looked almost like part of him.
“Why did Dad call you now?”
“He didn’t call me.”
“Then how did you know he was sick?”
“I didn’t.”
The words sat between us.
Gabriel touched the folder.
“Your father sent me a letter three weeks before he died. It arrived the day after his funeral.”
I looked up.
“What did it say?”
“I’ll let you read his letter first.”
I didn’t want to wait, but my hands had begun trembling. I opened the envelope carefully and unfolded the paper inside.
My dear Matthew,
If you are reading this, then I was not given the time I hoped for.
I stopped.
The first sentence was enough to make my vision blur.
Rosa placed a tissue near my hand, but I continued.
