On the 20th anniversary of Charlotte’s death, my babies showed up at my house without warning.
Of course, I was over the moon! The thing is, we hardly saw each other as much as I would’ve liked. We were all together only twice a year, at Christmas or Easter.
To celebrate being together on such a special occasion, I made dinner.
We spent some time remembering their mother. But all evening, I noticed that my daughters sat with strange expressions on their faces. They also barely spoke.
My babies showed up at my house.
I could feel something was wrong, but I didn’t want to spoil such a rare occurrence.
Then suddenly, my oldest daughter, Mia, said, “Dad, there’s something we need to confess. We’ve actually been hiding this from you our whole lives. But it’s time for you to know the truth.”
“What happened? What’s going on?” I asked.
Mia looked at me carefully before answering.
“Mom never stopped loving you.”
Her words gave me a sinking feeling in my stomach. The room went quiet.
“It’s time for you to know the truth.”
“What?” I said, barely comprehending what she’d said.
My other daughter, Tina, reached into her bag and pulled out a bundle of old envelopes, tied together.
“We found these in our old house years ago. They’re letters. Mom wrote them about you.”
I stared at them.
“She never sent them,” Mia explained. “We didn’t understand why at first… but when we got older, we read them. We thought they’d help us know her better.”
“Mom wrote them about you.”
I swallowed hard. “And what did they say?”
Mia didn’t hesitate. “That you were the love of her life.”
All those years thinking she’d moved on. All those unanswered questions.
And finally this.
“There’s one we didn’t read,” my daughter said. She stepped forward and handed me a single envelope.
It was sealed. Untouched.
“And what did they say?”
“That one felt different,” Mia said. “Like it wasn’t meant for us. Also, the envelope is addressed to you.”
I took it slowly.
“Dad… you should read it,” she added.
The weight of it sat heavily in my hands.
“You’ve had it all these years?”
“We didn’t know how to give it to you. We weren’t sure what her last words to you were, and we worried they might be bad news for us. Maybe she was asking you to stay far away and find a life of your own,” Kira said.
“Dad… you should read it.”
“And then… time just kept passing,” I finished.
That made more sense than anything else.
I looked down at the envelope again.
My name was written in her handwriting.
“Go on,” Mia said gently.
Carefully, I opened it and started reading.
“Go on.”
“Daryl,
