Chapter 26 - The letters finally reach us
Three years after Elena returned, Sofia was six.
Elena was forty-one.
I was fifty-one.
We were still married.
That surprised everyone.
Including us.
We had not renewed vows.
Had not staged a second wedding.
We simply chose not to dissolve the first marriage once we eventually decided we wanted to remain in it.
Our therapist said:
“You do understand staying married is not the same thing as repairing it.”
We knew.
Repair took years.
Elena kept her own office.
Her own account.
Her own clients.
I no longer allowed family staff to manage her mail.
She would have set the house on fire first anyway.
One Saturday we opened the preserved letters with Sofia.
Not all thirty-four at once.
Elena had copies.
The originals had been returned after litigation.
Sofia chose one addressed:
For Sofia when she’s older.
“Am I older?”
“Technically,” Elena said.
Inside Elena had written during year two:
Dear Sofia,
You probably don’t remember my voice. I hope someone tells you I used to sing badly when you couldn’t sleep.
I looked at Elena.
She smiled.
True.
Then:
I am trying to become brave enough to speak directly instead of sending another letter.
Sofia asked:
“Did you?”
Elena looked at me.
“Eventually.”
“Door knock.”
“Yes.”
Sofia smiled.
“I open?”
“Daddy opened.”
“I there.”
“Yes.”
Then Sofia asked:
“Why Daddy no get?”
I answered.
“Because Veronica kept them.”
“Could mailman give Daddy?”
“Mail went to our house office first.”
She thought.
“Bad office.”
“Bad rule.”
I corrected.
The office staff had followed a bad routing instruction.
No need to teach her institutions have moral character.
We finished one letter.
Then stopped.
History in child-sized doses.
The rest could wait.
Nothing was hidden anymore.
Waiting and hiding are different.
May you like
Choice makes the difference.
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