Chapter 15 - The Secret Truth of the Departure
I kept reading.
Nathan remembers the night you left, but he does not remember what came before it. He does not know how long you had been trying to find work. He does not know about the debts. He does not know how ashamed you were that I was paying for everything.
I read those lines twice.
Fragments returned.
My father at the kitchen table.
My mother standing beside the sink.
Their voices low.
Not fighting.
Just tired.
He had worked in a machine shop.
Then the shop closed.
I knew that much.
What I had forgotten was how long he had been unemployed.
My mother’s letter continued.
I still believe leaving was a mistake.
But I know now it wasn’t because you stopped loving us.
You thought going west for work would fix things.
You thought you would send money back and return when you had enough.
You were wrong.
So was I.
I lowered the page.
Sarah watched me carefully.
“He didn’t leave for another woman,” I said.
“No.”
“He left for work.”
“It sounds that way.”
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Forty years.”
Sarah leaned forward slightly.
“What?”
“For forty years, I have told myself exactly what happened.”
I looked down at the letter.
“He walked out. He never looked back. My mother and I survived without him.”
The words sounded strange now.
Too polished.
Like something repeated so many times that all the rough edges had been worn away.
Sarah’s voice was gentle.
“Maybe that was easier to understand when you were eleven.”
“Maybe.”
The second page was shorter.
Thomas,
You asked if you should come back.
I don’t know.
Part of me wants to say yes.
Part of me remembers Nathan waiting by the window after your first promise to return and cannot do that to him again.
If you come, come because you intend to stay.
If you write, write because you intend to keep writing.
He needs certainty more than apologies.
I stopped.
My throat tightened.
I remembered the window.
I had forgotten the window.
For months after my father left, I sat there some evenings watching headlights turn onto our street.
I would pretend I wasn’t waiting.
Then one night I stopped.
I folded the first page over.
At the bottom of the second, my mother had written one final paragraph.
I need time.
Maybe when Nathan is older, he should decide whether he wants to know you.
Until then, send letters to Evelyn. She’ll keep them.
I stared at the words.
“Letters?”
Sarah sat straighter.
“That’s what I was wondering.”
I looked at her.
“You said there was one envelope.”
“One from your mother.”
“No. She says my father sent letters to Evelyn.”
Sarah’s face changed.
“I haven’t found any.”
“How much of your mother’s storage have you gone through?”
“Most of it.”
“Most?”
“There are still boxes in the storage room downstairs.”
I stood.
“Let’s look.”
Sarah shook her head immediately.
“You’re not turning this into an excavation.”
“It’s my father.”
“And I have soup on the stove.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
From the other room, Lily called, “Mom, the hospital needs a parking lot.”
Sarah raised her eyebrows.
“You see? Civic planning crisis.”
I exhaled.
“Fine.”
“We eat first.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You are.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You’ve been here almost an hour and stared at soup three times.”
I looked toward the kitchen.
“That proves nothing.”
May you like
“It proves you’re hungry.”
She left the bedroom before I could argue.
