A photograph.
A young woman standing beside Charles.
Smiling.
Something slipped out and landed in my lap.
For a second, I thought I was looking at myself.
I turned it over.
On the back, in Charles's handwriting, were two words:
My daughter.
***
My hands started shaking.
I unfolded the last page of the letter.
My hands started shaking.
He wrote that years before I started at the company, he'd had a daughter.
She had passed away young, before I was even born, and after that, most days had felt like background noise he was simply waiting out.
Then I sat down across from him on my first day.
He wrote that I reminded him of her. Not in the way that made him sad, but in the way that made the world feel a little less empty again.
She had passed away young.
He said he never told me because he didn't want me to feel like I owed him anything or like I was filling in for someone I'd never met.
