I turned another page and stopped.
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He looked absolutely terrified and incredibly proud all at once.
I wanted that photo.
I carefully slid it out of the plastic sleeve.
As I pulled it free, something else slipped out from behind it. It was a thin piece of paper, folded twice. My name was written on the front in Dad's handwriting.
My hands started shaking as I unfolded the paper.
It was a thin piece of paper, folded twice.
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It was a letter, dated the day before he died.
I read it… Tears ran down my cheeks.
I read it again, and my heart didn't simply break; it shattered.
Dad's accident had happened in the late afternoon. I'd always been told he was just driving home from work. A normal commute. A random event.
But he wasn't just "driving home."
It was a letter, dated the day before he died.
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"No," I whispered. My voice sounded hollow. "No, no, no."
I folded the letter and walked downstairs. I found Meredith in the kitchen, helping my brother with homework. Her soft smile dropped when she saw my face.
"What is it?" she asked, her voice sharp with worry.
I held out the letter. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Her eyes dropped to the paper. The color drained out of her cheeks.
"No, no, no."
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"Where did you find that?" she whispered.
"In the photo album. Where you hid it."
Meredith closed her eyes for a moment. She looked like she had been bracing for this exact second for 14 years.
"Go finish your math upstairs, honey," Meredith told my brother. "I'll be up in a minute."
He gathered his books and headed up.
Once he was gone, I cleared my throat and started reading the letter aloud.
