“You didn’t give them to him?” I ask, barely keeping the disbelief out of my voice.
“I didn’t open them,” she shoots back.
My stomach sinks. “Jesus, Phern.”
“What?” she challenges. “I was doing my job. You know how much crap gets sent to him. I wasn’t going to let her sneak her way back in.”
I stare at her. Really stare. And for the first time, I see the fear behind the fire. The way her fingers tremble, just slightly, as she pushes her hair out of her face.
“You ever stop to think about what Uncle Billy would’ve said about all this?” I ask, quiet now.
Her head snaps up like I slapped her.
“Don’t you dare bring up my father.”
But I don’t back down.
“Your dad believed in second chances. Hell, third and fourth ones too. He wouldn’t have turned away someone Sam clearly loved.”
“He didn’t know her, Liam!”
“No, but neither did you. But that didn’t stop you from deciding for everyone.”
She swallows, hard, blinking fast like maybe she’s fighting off tears now.
Silence falls between us, heavy and sharp.
And I realize this isn’t just about Charlie. It’s about control. About fear. About Phern trying to keep the pieces of their family intact the only way she knows how. By not letting anyone else in.
But all she’s done is help break Sam’s heart.
And I’m not about to let that stand.
“Get the letters.”
“No.”
“Get the fucking letters, Phern.”
She flinches at my tone but stomps out of the room. I follow in case she gets any ideas, like tossing them into the fire. She goes to her office, to her desk. Opening the top drawer she pulls out a literal stack.
“Jesus,” I mutter. “Read them. Now.”
I don’t think she’s going to at first, but, with a sigh, she opens the first one. Her hands shake as she unfolds the envelope, the paper already soft and worn around the edges. For a second, she just stares at it like the words might burn her before they even leave her lips.
Then, finally, she reads.
“Dear Sam, I thought I saw you today at the local farmer’s market. Silly, I know. The man had on a cowboy hatand looked like you from behind. But when I touched his shoulder, it was someone else, and I was still alone.”
Her voice wavers, eyes flicking toward me.
“Keep going,” I say, more gently now.
She swallows and reads the rest. Then the next. And the next.
“Each night I go to sleep crying because you’re not there.”
“The new song you played… it’s beautiful, Sam. I know it’s the one you played for me.”
