Chapter 1: The Letter in the Varsity Jacket
The silence that stretched between us felt thick enough to suffocate me. The faint hum of polite conversation from the remaining funeral guests faded into a dull, echoing ring in my ears. I stared at the boy, my eyes darting over his features, desperately searching for a punchline to a terrible, cruel joke.
But there was no joke. There was only the boy, shifting his weight nervously in his oversized varsity jacket, his eyes wide and terrified, yet holding his ground.
"I don't know what kind of prank this is," I managed to say, my voice trembling so violently it barely sounded like my own. "My husband, Daniel, was a good man. He didn't make promises to teenagers he didn't know. Where are your parents?"
The boy didn't flinch. Instead, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. His hands were shaking just as badly as mine. He pulled out a weathered, brown leather wallet.
My breath caught in my throat. I recognized that wallet. It was the one I had bought Daniel for our tenth anniversary, the one he claimed he had lost on a hiking trip fifteen years ago.
"My mom passed away from ovarian cancer six months ago," the boy said, his voice cracking as he held the wallet out to me. "Her name was Sarah. My name is Leo. He told me... he told me to give this to you. He said you were a kind woman. He said you would understand."
I reached out, my fingers numb, and took the wallet. It opened easily, the leather soft from years of use. Inside, where Daniel used to keep his credit cards, was a folded, yellowing piece of notebook paper. And tucked behind it was a photograph.
I pulled the photo out. The air was violently knocked from my lungs.
May you like
It was Daniel. He looked younger, his hair still dark, laughing warmly at a park. Sitting on his shoulders was a little boy with bright eyes and a missing front tooth. The same boy standing in front of me now.
My husband of twenty-eight years—the man who claimed we didn't need children to be happy after our IVF treatments failed—had been raising a son less than ten miles away.
