I should have been honest with your mother. I should have found another way. Most of all, I should never have allowed my problems with her to become a reason for being absent from your life.
Claire stopped reading.
Michael sat quietly beside her.
She picked up another letter.
This one was dated the day she graduated from university.
Dear Claire,
Ruth sent me a photograph of you in your graduation gown. I hope you don’t mind. You look so much like your mother did at your age.
I wanted to come, but I knew I wasn’t invited. I suppose I could have asked. I’ve spent years convincing myself that respecting your wishes means staying away, although I suspect part of the truth is that I’m afraid of hearing you tell me to leave again.
You have every reason to be angry.
I’m proud of you anyway.
Claire lowered the paper.
She had spent years imagining that her father had built another life in which she barely existed.
The letters suggested something more complicated.
He had thought about her constantly.
He had also repeatedly chosen not to act.
The discovery did not erase her anger.
In some ways, it sharpened it.
“He could have sent these,” she said.
Michael nodded.
“Yes.”
“He could have called.”
“Yes.”
“He could have shown up.”
Michael looked at her.
“He should have.”
Claire began crying.
Not because the letters proved her father innocent.
They did not.
She cried because they revealed how much time had been wasted by two people who had loved each other and still failed to find a way back.
Chapter Nine – What Evelyn Remembered
Claire visited her mother the following Sunday.
Evelyn lived in a small townhouse near the hospital where she had worked for most of her career. Her kitchen was neat, her refrigerator covered with family photographs, and her garden carefully maintained.
Claire found her preparing lunch.
“Can we talk about Dad?”
Evelyn stopped chopping vegetables.
“Of course.”
Claire placed three letters on the kitchen table.
Evelyn read them slowly.
When she finished, she removed her glasses.
“I didn’t know he was still writing.”
“Did you know he came to my school when I was sixteen?”
“No.”
“Did you ever stop him from seeing me?”
Evelyn looked wounded.
“Claire, I never told him he couldn’t see you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her mother sat down.
For a long moment, she studied the letters.
“There were times,” Evelyn said carefully, “when I made it difficult.”
Claire waited.
“After the divorce, I was angry. I was recovering from surgery, trying to work, trying to raise you. He kept calling to change arrangements because of his job. Sometimes I told him not to bother coming if he couldn’t keep his promises.”
“Did you tell him I didn’t want to see him?”
“Sometimes you didn’t.”
“Did you ask me?”
Evelyn’s eyes filled with tears.
“Not always.”
Claire sat across from her.
She had expected to feel betrayed, but what she felt was more difficult to name.
Her mother had been the dependable parent. She had also been a frightened, exhausted woman whose marriage had ended during the most vulnerable period of her life.
Both things could be true.
“I needed you to tell me the truth,” Claire said.
“I told you what I believed was true.”
“You told me he chose work over us.”
“He did.”
“But you never told me he took care of you when you were sick.”
Evelyn looked down.
“He did take care of me.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was angry with him for leaving afterward.”
Claire leaned back.
Evelyn continued quietly.
“I thought if I told you about the good things, you’d start asking why they weren’t enough to make him stay. I didn’t have an answer.”
They sat in silence.
Outside, a neighbor was mowing the lawn.
Evelyn wiped her eyes.
“I should have handled it differently.”
Claire nodded.
“So should he.”
“Yes.”
For the first time, they spoke about the marriage without trying to decide which parent had been right.
Evelyn described the early years, when Thomas worked long hours but came home with flowers from the supermarket because he could not afford a florist.
