Lily reached across the table and touched his knuckles.
“Mommy said you didn’t know.”
Jack looked up sharply. “She said that?”
Lily nodded. “She said you looked for her. She said she knew you would, because you never gave up on people you loved.”
Jack’s jaw trembled. For years, he had blamed himself. He had replayed their last weeks together until every memory had turned into a question. Had he been too busy? Had he missed a warning? Had he pushed too hard when she asked for space? Had she decided he would be a terrible father? He had spent eight years building a life around the hole she left behind.
“How did she know I was looking?” he asked.
“Because she kept the letters.”
“What letters?”
Lily reached into the pocket of her raincoat again and pulled out a small envelope, softened by time. Inside were folded pages held together with a rubber band. The paper had yellowed, and several edges were creased as if they had been opened and read many times.
Jack recognized his own handwriting before he read a word.
The first letter was dated two weeks after Emily disappeared.
Emily,
I don’t know why you left. I don’t know if you’re safe, or if you hate me, or if something happened that you can’t tell me. I’m trying to respect your space, but I need you to know that I’m here. If there’s a baby, if you’re scared, if you need help, I will come. You don’t have to do this alone.
Jack.
He could not read the rest. He pressed the paper against his mouth and shut his eyes.
“There are more,” Lily said. “Mommy kept them in a box.”
“Did she ever write back?”
“Sometimes. She wrote letters, but she didn’t send them.” Lily frowned, trying to remember. “She said she wanted to. She said she was afraid.”
“Afraid of me?”
“No.” Lily shook her head so firmly that her hood slipped from her shoulders. “She said she was afraid you’d come and she’d have to tell you everything. She said she was afraid of what you’d think of her.”
Jack stared at the table.
“What could she have done that would make me think less of her?”
Lily did not answer. She was only seven. She had been given pieces of a story by a woman who had tried to protect her from the parts she could not understand.
Marcus pulled a chair beside Jack. He said nothing, but his presence was steady and familiar.
Jack folded the letters carefully and returned them to the envelope.
“I want to know everything,” he told Lily. “But we don’t have to talk about it all tonight. You’ve had a hard day.”
Lily looked uncertain. “Are you going to leave?”
The question hurt more than any accusation could have.
“No.” Jack leaned forward until they were eye to eye. “I’m not leaving you here. I’m not sending you away. I’m going to make sure you’re safe, and tomorrow we’ll figure out what comes next. I can’t promise I’ll get everything right. I haven’t been a dad before.”
Lily considered that.
“Neither have I had a dad before.”
A quiet laugh moved through the booth. Jack managed a small smile.