His voice drops. “I should have trusted her.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and heavy. I stare at the headstone again, at the name I grew up loving and resenting in equal measure.
“She sent me away the day Henry came for her,” I whisper. “One an errand across town. One that took two trains and three buses to get to.”
He nods. “She knew he was coming for her that day.”
The finality in his voice makes my throat burn.
“She was trying to save me,” he says, reaching into his jacket and pulling something out from the inside pocket. It looks like a letter. He hands it to me. I take it with trembling hands. “I wish I wouldn’t have been so blind and arrogant to see it. I built a world where loyalty mattered more than listening. Where power made me think I was untouchable. And I missed the one person who was brave enough to stand in front of me and say something was wrong.
His shoulders sag.
“I failed her,” he admits. “And I failed you.”
The words don’t fix anything. They don’t bring her back. But they matter. Because for the first time, he isn’t deflecting or explaining or hiding behind duty.
He’s owning it.
I step closer to the grave and rest my hand against the cool stone.
“I didn’t know who she really was,” I say quietly. “But I know she loved me. I know she tried.”
“Yes,” he says immediately. “She loved you more than anything. Everything she did—every risk—was for you.”
I swallow hard, tears blurring my vision despite my effort to hold them back.
My father steps closer, stopping short of touching me. “I can’t change what I didn’t see. Or the years you spent paying for it. But I’m here now. And I won’t ever ignore what you tell me again. Not your fears. Not your instincts. Not your voice.”
I look at him then. Really look at him.
“You have to mean that,” I say.
“I do,” he replies without hesitation. “I swear to you—and to her.”
The wind shifts, rustling the bare branches overhead. For a moment, it feels like she is listening.
“I’ll leave you to that letter,” my father says. He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my forehead before making his way back to the truck.
With shaking hands, I unfold the letter. Her handwriting, familiar and delicate, stares back at me.
Hello, my darling Peyton,
I inhale shakily and begin to read:
I’m so sorry, my love. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the mother you needed. That I wasn’t strong enough to resist the temptation my mother brought forward in the shape of Henry. I am sorry I couldn’t protect you the way you deserved. You are the bravest, strongest part of me, and I am so proud of you. I hope, when you read this, you can feel my love surrounding you, even if I’m not there to hold you myself. You must survive. You must live. And you must never doubt that I loved you more than anything.
The words blur as tears sting my eyes. My hands shake, my chest tightens, and I press the letter to my lips.
Always and forever,
Mom
I drop to my knees, trembling, clutching the letter like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to her. Silent sobs shake my body, wracking me with everything I’ve held in for years—the fear, the anger, the grief, and the love I never got to show her.
A shadow falls over me. Colter’s voice is soft, careful.
“I’m sorry, little star.”
