Page 68 of Since the Day We Kissed

Could this really be it?

Ethan’s pulse quickened as he carefully pulled it free. For a split second, he froze, staring at it, as his thumb traced along its edges. His heart pounded, and with a surge of urgency, he ripped the envelope open. His hands were jittery as he unfolded the paper.

The deed.

After all the searching, it was finally in his hands.

“Hero!”

Ethan waved the deed, and Hero barked. Laughing, he leaned down as Hero jumped, licking his face.

He rubbed Hero’s head with both hands. “We did it, boy!”

Hero barked again, prancing in a joyful circle, as if celebrating too.

Still grinning, Ethan stood and set the deed carefully on the dresser, as though placing it down made it all real. He exhaled, his body finally relaxing.

But as his eyes drifted back to the open safe, something else drew his attention—a bundle of letters, neatly tied with a faded ribbon. Intrigued, Ethan lifted it, his forehead creasing as he noticed the bold, scarletReturn to Senderstamp on each envelope.

A heaviness sank into his chest as he examined them, each one addressed to a different army base. As he unsealed nearly twenty letters, his eyes skimmed the pages, and certain phrases jumped out.

I’m sorry for everything ...

Please come home ...

I’d do anything to hear your voice again ...

Each line was like a dagger to Ethan’s heart.

The realization struck him hard, knocking the air from his lungs: These were his dad’s attempts at reaching out over the years. He shuffled through the letters until he reached the last one—its edges worn, as if handled many times, but never opened. As he unfolded it, a picture slipped from between the pages, floating to the floor. Ethan bent down and picked it up.

It was a photo of his dad, looking surprisingly clean-shaven and put together, standing beside a dog.Wrigley, his dad had scrawled on the back. The dog had a scruffy brown coat, and his dad’s hand rested gently on the dog’s head, both of them looking into the camera with an air of quiet companionship.

His chest tightened as he stared at the picture, holding it a moment longer before setting it down. Then he unfolded the letter, and the words blurred for a moment before coming into focus.

Dear Ethan,

Saw your picture in the paper. My boy, a war hero. I’m proud of you, even though I bet you hate me. Can’t say I blame you for that. Most days, I can’t stand myself either.

I know I messed up bad as your father. If I could do it over, I’d do a lot of things different. I’ve got more regrets than I know what to do with. But there’s some things you can’t fix. I can’t take back what happened to Sarah Walker, or the choices I made that night.

Losing my job that day knocked me down hard. After that, I went straight to the bar then passed out in the truck. The nightmares from Vietnam started up again. I was drunk, scared, and too selfish to think straight. Got behind the wheel, thinking I could end my own pain. Instead, I took Sarah’s life.

There ain’t no excuse for what I did. I’ve been carrying that weight ever since, and I’ll carry it to the grave.

But there’s one thing I gotta tell you. Sarah’s daughter, Kara, came to visit me in prison a few times after you left. Every time she’d ask if I’d heard from you, if I knew where you were. And one day, she told me she forgave me for what I did to her family. She even prayed with me, and said she hopes one day I’ll forgive myself. Maybe God will too. I hope so.

If this letter finds you, son, Kara wanted me to tell you that she still loves you. She always has. I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, but she’s a good woman.

I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Ethan. I reckon I’ve lost that chance, but I just wanted to tell you one last thing: I love you, son. I always did, even when I didn’t know how to show it.

Maybe I’ll see you again someday.

Love,

Dad

P.S. This is a picture of me and Wrigley. Don’t know what kind of dog he was, but I know you would’ve liked him.

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