If you’re reading this one day, remember that my greatest fear has always been becoming like my father.
I continued.
Daniel wrote about becoming a father.
About being terrified.
About promising himself that he would always stay.
He wrote that he wanted seven children.
He wrote about growing old with me.
He wrote about watching our sons become men.
I couldn’t understand.
How could the man who had written those words become the man who abandoned us?
Then I reached the final page.
There was one sentence.
If I ever become selfish enough to abandon my family, I hope my children are strong enough to remind me who I was supposed to be.
I put the letter down.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
Then my phone rang.
Daniel.
I stared at the screen.
I almost didn’t answer.
But I did.
“Hello?”
His voice was different.
“Can we talk?”
“About what?”
“Everything.”
I closed my eyes.
“You already said everything when you walked out.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You didn’t make one mistake, Daniel.”
Silence.
“You made hundreds of choices.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I heard him breathe heavily.
“Claire left.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She left.”
“What do you mean?”
“She found out about the documents.”
I said nothing.
“She said she didn’t sign up for seven children, financial problems, and legal battles.”
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was painfully ironic.
