Chapter 5 - THE LETTER FROM HIS FATHER
Rose lived forty minutes outside the city in the same brick house she and Nick’s grandfather had purchased in 1974.
When we arrived, she already had coffee waiting.
She hugged me first.
Then she looked at my hair.
Her lips tightened.
“Your grandfather once ruined one of my cakes.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“He tried to carry it outside during a thunderstorm.”
Nick looked confused.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Nothing.”
Rose pointed at him.
“That’s exactly my point.”
I laughed.
Even Nick smiled.
Then Rose became serious.
She walked into the living room and returned with a small wooden box.
Inside was a sealed envelope.
Nick’s name was written across the front in his father’s handwriting.
Nick touched it but didn’t pick it up.
“I haven’t seen his handwriting in years.”
Rose sat beside him.
“He gave this to me eight months before he died.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he asked me not to.”
Nick looked at her.
“Unless Mom interfered with my marriage.”
“Yes.”
I watched Nick carefully open the envelope.
There were three pages inside.
He began reading.
Dear Nick,
If you are reading this, then something I hoped would never happen probably has.
Your mother loves you.
But sometimes love becomes confused with control.
Nick stopped.
He looked away.
Then continued.
I have watched Martha interfere in your relationship with Emily more than once.
I confronted her after your college breakup.
My breath caught.
Nick looked at me.
Rose stared at the floor.
He continued.
I cannot prove exactly what she did.
But I found drafts of anonymous emails on our home computer.
I asked her about them.
She denied sending them.
Later, the files disappeared.
Nick’s hands started trembling.
I reached for him.
He kept reading.
Your mother believes she is protecting you from hardship.
She believes wealth and social standing are forms of safety.
I have tried to explain that choosing your life for you is not protection.
Nick stopped again.
His father’s next sentence was underlined.
If she ever forces you to choose between the family she came from and the family you choose to build, choose the one built on honesty.
Nick lowered the letter.
For almost a minute, nobody said anything.
Then he asked his grandmother a question.
“Why didn’t Dad tell me himself?”
Rose sighed.
“Because he was hoping he could fix it.”
“Did he confront her?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“They fought.”
Rose looked older suddenly.
“Your father threatened to tell you everything.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“Your mother promised him she would stop.”
Nick looked at me.
“She didn’t.”
“No.”
Rose reached into the box again.
There was another envelope.
This one wasn’t sealed.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Something Thomas printed.”
Inside were four pages.
Draft emails.
The names had been removed.
But I recognized the language immediately.
EMILY IS MY HIGH SCHOOL LIFE.
I’M READY FOR SOMETHING DIFFERENT.
My hands went cold.
That was the exact sentence from the fake screenshots sent to me eleven years ago.
Nick stared at it.
Then he whispered, “Dad had proof.”
“Some.”
Rose nodded.
“He couldn’t prove Martha actually sent them.”
“But she wrote them.”
“It appeared that way.”
Nick stood and walked toward the window.
The anger in his face was different from the anger at the wedding.
This was grief.
His father had known.
His father had tried to protect him.
And Martha had kept the truth buried after his death.
I walked over to Nick.
He looked at me.
“We lost four months because of her.”
I nodded.
“And almost lost everything.”
He shook his head.
“How many other things?”
That was the question.
Because suddenly, every strange coincidence from the last decade deserved another look.
The apartment application that mysteriously disappeared.
The job interview I almost lost because someone contacted the company claiming I was dishonest.
The anonymous message Nick received before he proposed.
The rumor that I had insulted his family at a Christmas party I hadn’t even attended.
For years, we had treated those moments as separate problems.
May you like
Now they looked like pieces of the same pattern.
And for the first time, I wondered whether Martha had spent years doing far more than insulting me.
