I laughed once, but the sound was empty.
“His mother died six years ago.”
“I know.”
“He could have told me after that.”
Grace lowered her head.
“He was ashamed.”
“Of you?”
“No. Of his father. Of the way my mother was treated.”
“That does not explain fifteen years of lying to me.”
She had no answer.
I untied the ribbon around the letters.
Some were written by Grace’s mother.
Others were from David.
The dates stretched back more than a decade.
In one letter, David apologized for not being brave enough to meet Grace.
In another, he promised her mother that he would help pay rent and school expenses.
