Inside was a letter.
I opened it.
It was dated the day after he left.
I read it silently.
He had written that he was confused.
That he was afraid.
That he loved me but didn’t know how to trust what he was being told.
He had never sent it.
I looked at him.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Cowardice.”
I folded the letter.
“You could have come back.”
“I know.”
“You could have asked questions.”
“I know.”
“You could have believed me.”
“I know.”
He took a breath.
“I can’t change any of that.”
“No.”
“But I can change what happens next.”
I looked at him.
“What do you want?”
“My sons.”
He corrected himself.
“I want to know them.”
“That isn’t the same as having them.”
“I know.”
“And they aren’t something you get because a DNA test says you’re their father.”
“I know.”
He nodded.
“I don’t expect them to call me Dad tomorrow.”
“They already did.”
He smiled.
“I heard.”
I looked toward the four boys.
“They deserve stability.”
“I’ll give them that.”
“They deserve honesty.”
“I’ll give them that too.”
“And they deserve to know that none of this was their fault.”
His expression became serious.
“I’ll make sure they know.”
I looked at the man standing in front of me.
Eight years ago, I had wanted him to regret leaving.
Now that he did, I realized something.
His regret wasn’t my victory.
My life had already moved forward.
My boys had already grown.
I had already built a home without him.
What mattered now was whether he could become someone worthy of being in their lives.
“Start slowly,” I said.
He nodded.
“How slowly?”
I smiled.
“Christmas lunch.”
He laughed.
“That’s all?”
“For now.”
Page 10
A year later, we returned to Cedarcrest Estate.
But everything was different.
Adrian wasn’t standing at the door as a stranger.
He was waiting for his sons.
The boys ran toward him.
“Dad!”
He opened his arms.
All four crashed into him.
I stood behind them and smiled.
Adrian had kept his promise.
He never tried to take them away from me.
