“He thought I hated him,” I said.
Gwen’s voice shook behind us. “That’s what she told him.”
Another letter.
A birthday card.
Leo opened it with careful hands.
If your mom tells you I loved her, believe her.
The room went completely still.
“And him?” Leo asked quietly.
Gwen hesitated.
“He died,” she said. “Three years ago. Car accident.”
Leo didn’t cry right away.
Neither did I.
It was quieter than that.
He held the box like it might disappear.
I held eighteen years of words I never got to read.
On the drive home, Leo fell asleep in the passenger seat, one hand still resting on the letters.
At a red light, I looked at him.
And for the first time in eighteen years, I understood the truth.
