Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 95816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95816 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
He answered on the first ring.
“Ashley? Is that you, sweetheart?”
I began to cry again when I heard his voice. It wasn’t angry or cold.
“Richard,” I said between sobs.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked. “Where are you?”
“Home—I’m at home,” I replied.
“I’m on my way.”
“Can–can you bring Katy?”
“We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
He hung up.
31
ASHLEY
They arrived in record time, both looking concerned. I had read my mom’s entire letter, often crying at points, feeling her fear, her regret, and her love in the words. She said so many things to me in the letter that she had felt yet never expressed. She regretted that and begged me never to do the same thing.
If you love someone, tell them. If you have things to share, say them. Don’t live with regrets. Don’t make my mistakes. I loved you so much and never told you enough. Never showed you enough. That was how I was raised, and I should have done it differently.
She had done it differently. I always knew I was loved, although I had always longed for more hugs and kisses. More cuddles and bedtime stories. I never knew how deeply her feelings ran. I always wondered if she regretted having me. Her letter had laid that to rest. She raised me the only way she knew how, although I suspected she showed me more affection than her parents had shown her. She had struggled daily to keep up with the world around her, paying bills, working, making sure I was fed and safe.
I opened the door, feeling calmer, yet bursting into tears the second I met Richard’s worried gaze. He stepped in, pulling me into his arms, rocking me as if I were a child. For the first time, I basked in the feeling of being close to my father. Of feeling his tight, comforting embrace. Inhaling his warm, rich scent. He murmured something to Katy, who moved past us, then he pulled back, keeping one arm around me, cupping my cheek with his free hand.
“Ashley, are you hurt? Did Luc upset you? Were you in an accident? Do we need to take you to the hospital?”
I shook my head but, unable to speak, I only cried harder.
He led me to the sofa, sitting down and pulling me beside him. He cradled me close, murmuring hushing sounds, his hand rhythmically stroking over my head and up and down my arm. He let me cry myself out, not once being impatient or telling me to stop weeping. When the last of the deep sobs eased, he pressed some tissues into my hand.
I wiped my face and blew my nose. “S–sorry,” I mumbled.
“Don’t be sorry. Whatever has upset you so much, I’m grateful you called me. Called us. Tell us how to help,” he said.
I sniffled and raised my face, meeting his gaze. It was gentle and understanding. Anxious. Katy sat on the coffee table, a tray beside her. I could smell tea brewing, the scent light and perfuming the air. She was watching us, concerned and quiet, meeting my eyes with a nod.
“We’re here, dear.”
“I’ve been so horrible to you! How can you be so nice?” I protested.
She and Richard exchanged a glance. “That’s what families do,” she replied.
“You think of me as family?” I asked, shocked at her choice of words.
“You’re part of my husband, so therefore, yes.” She lifted a shoulder. “Even if it is distant family by choice.”
“I’m sorry,” I rambled. “I’m so sorry for all of it. I was so wrong.”
Richard turned to face me fully. In an instinctive paternal gesture, he took another tissue and wiped under my eyes. I half expected him to hold one to my nose and tell me to blow, but he didn’t.
“What are you sorry for, Ashley? What brought this on?”
“I knocked over a picture moving a box of Luc’s,” I explained. “I took off the frame to put the broken glass in the garbage, and I found two envelopes. One was addressed to you, the other to me. They were from my mom. She–she told me everything in the letter.”
“Everything?” he questioned. “What do you mean?”
“That you didn’t know. That she wrote you a letter and never gave it to you.”
Katy gasped, and they exchanged a look.
“What?” I asked.
“I remembered your mother leaving a letter for your father then coming back to get it, saying she’d changed her mind. I told Richard about it after you showed up. It had slipped my mind all those years ago.”
I leaned over and pulled the yellowed envelope from under the manila one that was concealing it.
“Was this it?”
She smiled. “It was a long time ago, but I think so.”
“What exactly did your mother say?” Richard asked, his voice tight.
I picked up the folded pages and held them out to him. “Read it yourself.”