“Why now?”
Sarah's eyes shifted toward the supermarket doors.
“Because last year I decided Chloe deserved to know her father's family.”
Marcus frowned.
“You contacted me?”
“I thought I did.”
“What does that mean?”
“I sent a message through a social media account connected to your riding club.”
Marcus stared at her.
“I never got anything.”
Sarah slowly reached for her phone.
“I received a response.”
She found an old screenshot and handed the phone over.
Marcus read it.
Sarah, do not contact me again. Evan made his choices. Your daughter is not my responsibility.
Marcus read the words twice.
Then a third time.
“I didn't write this.”
“I believe you.”
“Sarah, I would never—”
“I know.”
“How?”
She looked toward the room where Gary had been questioned.
“Because two weeks ago, I discovered Gary had access to that account from my old tablet.”
Marcus went still.
“He sent it?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
Sarah wrapped an arm around Chloe.
“Gary and I had already been having problems. He wanted us to move away with him. I kept saying Chloe belonged near the life Evan had known. Gary hated hearing Evan's name. I think he saw you as another connection he couldn't control.”
Marcus looked down at the envelope again.
The paper had yellowed slightly at the edges.
Eight years.
His son's words had been waiting eight years.
Chloe shifted closer.
“Is that from my daddy?”
Marcus swallowed.
“Yes.”
“What's it say?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Are you scared to read it?”
Marcus looked at her.
A seven-year-old had just asked him the question no adult in his life had managed to ask correctly.
“Yes.”
Chloe thought about that.
“When I'm scared, Mommy says I can hold somebody's hand.”
Sarah looked away, tears returning.
Chloe extended her small hand.
Marcus stared at it.
His own hands were rough, scarred, oversized.
He had rebuilt engines with them.
Lifted motorcycles.
Carried his son when Evan was four and had fallen asleep on the couch.
Lowered a handful of dirt onto Evan's grave.
Marcus gently took Chloe's hand.
And for the first time in nearly eight years, grief did not feel like an empty room.
It felt like a door that had finally opened.
Sarah wiped her eyes.
“You don't have to read the letter today.”
Marcus nodded.
“I know.”