THE LETTER
Terrence opened the envelope.
His mother’s handwriting covered three pages.
He read silently.
Then he stopped.
His face crumpled.
I stepped closer.
“What does it say?”
Terrence handed me the letter.
The final paragraph read:
Terrence, if something happens to me, don’t blame Walter. He tried to protect me. I was the one who asked him to keep you away from this. I love you more than anything. Don’t spend your life angry at the people who were trying to keep you safe.
I looked at Terrence.
He was crying.
“I spent eight years hating him,” he whispered.
Walter reached for his hand.
“You were a boy.”
“I was thirty.”
“You were still my son.”
Terrence finally broke.
He knelt beside Walter’s wheelchair and wrapped his arms around him.
I turned away, giving them privacy.
But I was crying too.
