You were five years old.
You didn’t ask for any of this.
So if you’re ever angry at me, be angry.
If you miss me, miss me.
But don’t ever apologize for surviving.”
Clara broke down.
I went to her and held her.
For several moments, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered,
“Why didn’t you give me this before?”
Daniel looked at me.
“I tried.”
I stared at him.
“What do you mean?”
“I brought the letters to your house.”
“When?”
“Two weeks after Ethan died.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“I left them with your neighbor.”
“My neighbor?”
“Mrs. Bell.”
My heart stopped.
Mrs. Bell had lived next door for years.
“She never gave me anything.”
Daniel reached into his coat.
“I thought she had.”
He pulled out an old receipt.
“Then, years later, I found out she had moved away. Her daughter was clearing out her house and contacted me.”
