The letter arrived on a Tuesday afternoon, and I knew who it was from before I even opened it.
The handwriting was familiar—shaky, uncertain, nothing like the confident script I remembered from my childhood. My father had always had beautiful handwriting. Now it looked like it belonged to a stranger.
I sat in the conservatory, surrounded by my orchids, and stared at the envelope for a long time. I knew what it would say before I read it. I'd been waiting for this letter for years, dreading it and hoping for it in equal measure.
My dearest Ruby,
I have no right to ask this of you. I know that. I've done nothing to earn your forgiveness, and I've done everything to lose your trust. But I'm asking anyway.
May I see you? I need to tell you everything. The truth about your mother. The truth about Kai. The truth about the choices I made that hurt you so deeply.
