Written across the top were four words:
For Emily — when she’s ready.
I stood there for a long time before finally opening it.
Inside were dozens of letters.
All of them were written in Mark’s handwriting
.
I picked up the first one.
“If you’re reading this someday, it means your mother finally decided you should know the truth about me.”
Before I could read further, my phone rang.
It was Mark.
I answered.
He didn’t say hello.
“You’re in Unit 214, aren’t you?”
My heart sank.
“Who is Emily?”
There was silence.
“Mark, who is Emily?”
His voice was quiet.
“My daughter.”
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I sat down on the floor.
“You have a daughter?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
“I wanted to explain.”
“You’ve had fourteen years to explain.”
“I know.”
“Then explain now.”
He took a long breath.