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His words are a promise, and I believe him. And I know that I’m going to do everything I can to accept it.
He lets go of my hand and leans over, pulling out an envelope from his jacket pocket.
“It’s my dad’s letter,” he says when I look at it.
I feel guilt at the relief I feel that it’s not one he’s written. More revelations would kill me. I can see by the way it’s crumpled and creased that it’s been handled a lot, but it’s still sealed.
“You haven’t read it?”
He shakes his head and then holds it out to me. “I want you to read it,” he says at my questioning look.
I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. I don’t want to. What if it hurts him more? Hasn’t he been hurt enough?
“Out loud?” My voice is a croak, and I’m eying it like it’s poison because I can’t think of anything worse.
He nods, his eyes pleading. “I’ve tried, but I just can’t get myself to open it.” He grits his teeth, his chin trembling. “This is the only words I’ll ever get from him, and I need to know. Even if it is bad, I need to know.”
Okay, he needs me to do this for him, so I take it from him. He faces forward while I rip the envelope open. My fingers are shaky. His is clenched into fists.
I want to delay it, ask him if he’s sure. It’s not too late. We can throw it in the ocean and watch the tide drag it away, but that’s what I want and not what he needs. So I clear my throat and start reading.
My Son,
I must have re-written this letter a hundred times, and every single time has been just as hard. How can words on paper adequately convey what I feel in my heart? They’re just not good enough. But I owe it to you and myself to at least try.
There has never been a moment that I haven’t loved you.
I falter, my eyes clenching at the sound of Lucas’s choked sob, but I take a deep breath and soldier on.
Even before you were born, when you were just a child in my head, I loved you. I loved the idea of you. But what I felt then paled in comparison to what I felt when I held you in my arms for the first time. I was taught that grown men don’t cry, but I’m not going to lie, I cried.
Every second of every single day, from that moment on, I’ve loved you.
And this is why it’s so hard for me. Because despite all that love, I failed you. I fucking failed you, and the regret and shame is something I live with every day. At night, when I’m lying on my bunk, I go through every single memory I have of that time, picking them apart and trying to figure out what did I miss? Were there signs that I was just too blind to see? Was it because I was gone too much? How could I not notice what was going on? How could I not know what she was capable of? But no matter how many times I ask “how, where, what, why,” it changes nothing.
And for that, I am so sorry. I’m your father, and I was meant to protect you, and I didn’t.
I want you to know that my refusal to see you wasn’t because I blamed you for what happened. My god, you were just a child, and no child has to ever suffer through what you did.
I didn’t want to see you because I was ashamed. Not because of killing her. For that, I have no regrets. But because I was a coward. I didn’t want to face my failure and what it did to you. I guess I wanted you to forget about me, to put that horrible time behind you and move on with your life.
For that, I also want to apologize. Your grandparents constantly begged me to let you visit, but I refused. I was and still am a stubborn ass. So instead of facing you like a man, I’ve taken the coward’s way out and written this letter.
Despite wanting you to forget about me, I never forgot about you. Your grandparents kept me informed and each and every accomplishment filled my heart with joy. I am so proud of you, so proud of the man you’ve become despite what happened to you.
I love you, Lucas.
Dad
“He didn’t fail me,” he sobs. “I failed him, and if he’d just given me a chance, I would have told him!”
I drop the letter and cup his cheeks. Let the damn wind take his words. He took the coward’s way out. By allowing his shame to get in the way, he denied his son any kind of closure, and it was selfish. I force him to look at me, hoping that the strength of my words will be enough to make him believe.
“You didn’t fail him, and he didn’t fail you. You were both innocent in what happened by trusting someone you should have been able to trust. There is no fault in that.”
“He should have let me see him.” His voice is as broken as his eyes and it shatters my heart. I wrap him in my arms, and his head drops to my shoulder, my fingers tangling in his hair, holding him there.
“He should have,” I murmur, clutching Lucas closer.
I make a vow then. To do whatever I can to help him pick up his broken pieces. To see him happy and smiling. To be the man he should have always been.
