Chapter 2 - The Letter Unsealed
Lauren didn't invite me in, but she stepped back, leaving the door ajar just enough for me to escape the freezing wind.
"Stay on the mat," she said, her voice flat, devoid of the warmth I had remembered for seven long years. She turned her back on me and walked into the living room. "Leo, honey, don't touch the iron. Step away from the hearth."
I stood on the braided rug inside the entryway, snow melting from the treads of my work boots into dark, ugly pools. In my trembling hands, I held the letter. The paper was stiff, the edges curled and yellowed with time. The envelope had been slit open years ago, its flap bent back like a broken wing.
My fingers shook so violently that I nearly dropped it. I pulled out the folded sheet inside. It was written on lined notebook paper, in Lauren’s rounded, hurried handwriting—the same hand that used to leave sticky notes on my steering wheel reminding me to eat lunch.
*Liam,* the letter began. *January 14th.*
*I know you said you needed space. I know you said the trailer was suffocating and that you felt like you were drowning in our debts. But you have to come back. Please. Call the landlady or call my mother if you won't call me. I went to the clinic in town yesterday morning because I couldn't stop throwing up. Liam, I’m pregnant. Six weeks. The doctor said the heartbeat is strong.*
*I know we’re scared. I know we don’t have health insurance, and your truck needs a new transmission, and we yelled awful things at each other on Tuesday night. But this is ours. We made this. I’m not asking you to be rich. I’m just asking you to come home and hold my hand. Please don't leave me to do this by myself.*
The room seemed to tilt on its axis. The air rushed out of my lungs, leaving behind a cold, burning emptiness.
January 14th.
Seven years ago, on January 14th, I had been sitting in a dingy bar in Billings, Montana, drowning myself in cheap whiskey and pride, telling myself that leaving her was an act of mercy. I had told myself I was a failure who would only drag her down into poverty. I had convinced myself that Lauren would be better off without my temper, without my empty promises, without my dreams of building custom houses that never materialized.
I had abandoned my mail, abandoned my phone number, abandoned my entire life because I was a coward who couldn't bear to look in the mirror.
"Mom? Who's that?"
May you like
A small, high voice broke through the deafening roar in my ears. I lowered the paper. Standing at the threshold of the living room, holding a half-charred piece of kindling in his small, soot-stained hands, was the boy.
My boy.
