Chapter 9 - The Letter in the Mailbox
Two weeks into their stay at the lake, a plain manila envelope arrived at the local post office box Daniel had established in town. Inside was a handwritten letter from Elena, accompanied by a small album of photographs and a letter from her attending physician at the restorative clinic in Madison.
Daniel sat on the front porch with a mug of black coffee, reading Elena’s words as the morning mist rolled off the water:
Daniel, I do not ask for forgiveness, nor do I demand to interrupt the quiet life you are building for our daughter. I only want her to know that my absence was never because she was unloved. The sickness that took me away from her was my burden, not her fault. I am working as an art instructor at a rehabilitation center now. I paint every day, and every canvas has a small speck of yellow in the corner—a reminder of the little girl with sunflower eyes.
May you like
Daniel looked at the enclosed photographs. Elena looked healthy, her face full and serene, her smile genuine for the first time since the difficult delivery that had fractured her mental health years ago. She had completed four years of therapy, achieved financial independence, and had remained sober and stable.
He looked over at Sophie, who was sitting on the wooden deck steps, drawing with colored pastels on a large sketchpad. She was drawing a house without a roof, letting the blue sky touch every room inside.
