Then they handed me a letter. They wrote about the father who had found them when he had nothing left—the man who learned bottles, hair, homework, sickness, and fear. They had noticed that I avoided beaches and became distant near their birthday. For years, they wondered whether raising them had caused me pain.
Eventually, they understood. I had not loved them because I had forgotten Sarah and Ivy. I had loved them while continuing to miss Sarah and Ivy.
Their letter ended with a message Andrea had once shared with them:
“You never wanted us to save you. But you saved us first, Dad. We have spent eighteen years trying to return the favor.”
Emily held out the tickets.
“Come back with us.”
“I’m frightened,” I admitted.
“That’s why we’re going together.”
PART 3
Three days later, I stood at the edge of the same beach. The changing cubicles were still there. My chest tightened, and every part of me wanted to turn around.
