I will never take that for granted. Ever.
“Can we go and see him?”
The question catches me off guard.
“When?”
“Now.” Her voice is quiet but firm. “If we don't go today, I might never be able to.”
I move forward and kiss her softly, just once.
“Anything you want,” I tell her. “But you might want to get changed first.”
She glances down at her pyjamas, biting her bottom lip. Lost in thought, her expression suddenly contorts into alarm.
“Oh my god, I completely forgot to give it to you.” She blurts.
Her head snaps to the side. “Did you bring my coat?”
I almost laugh. I packed practically everything she owns for this weekend, mainly because she had no idea where we were going.
Reaching into the backseat, I grab her coat and hand it over before she has a panic attack.
She digs through the pockets, fingers fumbling around until she pulls out an envelope.
My name is written across the front.
“Wow,” I say dryly. “Who’s the old one now?”
Her face twists in confusion before she rolls her eyes.
“Still you,” she shoots back automatically. Then she looks at the envelope again. “But no, this isn't from me. It's from my dad, actually.”
Now I’m the one frowning.
Her dad hated me. We haven't spoken in eighteen years.
I stare at the letter in her hands.
“Are you sure?”
She nods and hands it to me.
“Surprised me too,” she admits. “And I know it's for you because he didn't know any other Elijah’s. I brought my own letter, but I’ll open it tomorrow.”
My attention hardly registers what she says as I continue staring at my name, which is written messily across the front.
It must be serious for him to write a letter to the man who took a chance on building a family with his daughter.
Who even writes letters anymore?
The envelope feels heavier than it should in my hands.
He left a few for Willow—I know that much. That makes sense. She's his daughter. He's going to miss every other milestone in her life, every birthday, every little achievement she’ll want to tell him about. Marriage. Kids. And whatever else she accomplishes.
But me? I don't understand.
I stare down at my name, trying to figure out what the hell he could have to say to me.
