Chapter 9
The Letters SharedMonths later, Harrison gathered the courage to reread Margaret's letters.
This time, he did not read them alone.
He invited Ellen.
They sat at the dining table while afternoon light filled the apartment.
"I've never read them," Ellen admitted.
"I think she'd want you to."
One by one, Harrison shared the letters.
The angry ones.
The hopeful ones.
The heartbreaking ones.
Sometimes Ellen laughed.
Sometimes she cried.
When they finished the final letter, neither spoke for several minutes.
"I used to wonder if Mom regretted Dad," Ellen said quietly.
"She never did."
"I know that now."
Harrison folded the letters carefully.
"Love isn't divided the way people think."
Ellen nodded.
"My parents gave me life."
"And your mother gave me mine back."
She reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
"Thank you for coming when she called."
"I should have come years earlier."
"But you came."
The sentence echoed something Ellen had once told him in the hospital.
Perhaps forgiveness always sounded simple after enough time.
That evening, Harrison placed the letters into a wooden box lined with soft cloth.
May you like
He no longer viewed them as reminders of what had been lost.
They had become proof that love had survived silence.
