“The letters.”
Sophie looked confused.
“What letters?”
“I wrote you letters. I gave them to Daniel because I didn’t know where you lived.”
Her eyes widened.
“I never received any.”
“He offered to deliver them if you contacted him. Later, he claimed you wanted no contact.”
“Linda, I never told him that.”
I remembered the box Greg had brought home from Daniel’s apartment after the accident.
“I need to check something.”
Sophie followed me to the spare bedroom.
The box contained Daniel’s notebooks, photographs, receipts, and a folder he used for important documents.
I opened the folder.
Near the bottom were several envelopes held together with a rubber band.
My handwriting covered their fronts.
Every envelope was addressed to Sophie.
They were still sealed.
“Oh, God.”
I counted five letters.
Five times I’d sat at my kitchen table trying to find words that might bring Sophie back into our lives.
