Inside, Daniel’s father had written: You don’t have to forgive me. But please don’t make your son grow up thinking I never wanted to know him.
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The card included an address.
Hunter had written Thomas a letter asking whether he was really his grandfather. He had even asked whether Thomas could write back if he was still alive.
I was angry that my son had been meeting a stranger without my knowledge, but my anger softened when Hunter confessed why he had kept the secret.
“Because you’d make him go away,” he whispered.
“Hunter, I wouldn’t do that.”
“You get sad whenever I ask about Dad.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came.
For five years, I had believed I was protecting Hunter by avoiding conversations about Daniel. I thought my silence spared him from my grief. Instead, my little boy had learned to hide his own feelings so he wouldn’t upset me.
