She placed it on the coffee table.
“What is that?” Luke asked.
“Letters.”
Her voice cracked.
She opened the lid.
The container was full.
Envelope after envelope.
And written across every one, in a child’s handwriting, was Luke’s name.
Luke picked one up.
His hand shook.
“She wrote back?”
Rachel began crying.
“Yes.”
“All this time?”
“Yes.”
Luke stared at her.
“She answered me?”
“Every time.”
His voice rose.
“Then why didn’t I get them?”
Rachel wiped her face.
“At first, we were advised that limiting contact might help Emma settle.”
She struggled with the next words.
“She kept answering your letters anyway.”
Luke looked down at the box.
“We kept telling ourselves we would send them once she felt more secure.”
Rachel shook her head.
“Then too much time passed.”
David finally spoke.
“We should have fixed it years ago.”
He looked at Luke.
“We told ourselves we were protecting Emma.”
