Then one rainy afternoon, I received a letter.
There was no return address.
I opened it.
It was from my father.
The letter was only two pages long.
He didn’t ask for money.
He didn’t mention the lake house.
He didn’t mention Lauren.
He simply wrote:
“I finally understand what you were trying to tell us.”
I read the sentence twice.
Then I continued.
He admitted that he had spent years assuming I would always be there.
He admitted that Lauren’s problems had become the center of the family because everyone had become accustomed to me solving mine alone.
And then came the sentence that stayed with me.
“We didn’t realize we were teaching you that your pain mattered less than her comfort.”
I put the letter down.
