I held the photograph beneath the kitchen light until my eyes began to ache.
There was no mistake.
The boy standing beside Teagan was someone I had seen before.
His name was Daniel.
At least, that was what I remembered.
He had come to our house once during the summer, when Teagan was about six months pregnant.
She had introduced him as a friend.
I remembered thinking he looked nervous.
He barely spoke to me.
When I offered him something to drink, he thanked me without meeting my eyes.
Teagan had walked him outside.
They stood beneath the maple tree for nearly half an hour.
I watched them through the kitchen window.
I had assumed they were arguing.
Now I wondered whether they had been saying goodbye.
I turned the photograph over.
There was a date written on the back.
Three weeks before Lucas was born.
Underneath it were four words.
Please don't tell Mom yet.
My hands began trembling.
I unfolded the letter.
The first line was simple.
Mom, if you're reading this, then I didn't get the chance to explain everything myself.
I stopped.
I had to put the letter down.
For ten years, I had imagined all the things my daughter might have said if she'd survived.
I had imagined apologies.
Promises.
Questions.
I had never imagined she would leave me instructions.
I picked it up again.
She wrote that she knew I had been angry about her refusing to name Lucas's father.
She said she hadn't been trying to punish me.
She hadn't been ashamed of him.
She had been afraid.
Not of Daniel.
Of what would happen if everyone knew.
I read the sentence twice.
Then I continued.
Daniel knew about the baby.
He had known almost from the beginning.
He had wanted to be involved.
But his parents had found out about the pregnancy and were furious.
They believed he should finish school, leave town, and build a future without the responsibility of a child.
Daniel had been seventeen.
Teagan had been eighteen.
Neither of them understood how to fight adults who controlled their lives.
I remembered the nervous boy beneath the maple tree.
Suddenly, his silence made sense.
The letter said Teagan had told him he could come back when he was ready to choose his own life.
She hadn't wanted him returning because someone else had forced him to.
She wanted him to return because he had decided to.
I stared at the page.
Then I found the sentence that changed everything.
I know you keep asking who he is, Mom. But the question you never asked me was why I was scared to tell you.
I closed my eyes.
She was right.
I had asked who.
I had asked where.
I had asked whether he knew.
I had never asked why.
A sound came from the hallway.
I quickly folded the letter.
Lucas appeared in the doorway.
“You're still awake.”
“So are you.”
He shrugged.
“I wanted some water.”
He walked toward the kitchen.
Then he noticed the photograph.
“Is that Mom?”
I froze.
“Yes.”
He picked it up.
“Who's the guy?”
I watched his face.
I had spent ten years protecting him from uncertainty.
Now I had to decide whether protecting him still meant keeping him ignorant.
“I think that's your father.”
Lucas didn't move.
The room seemed to become completely silent.
“My father?”
“I believe so.”
He looked at the photograph again.
“Do you know his name?”
“Daniel.”
Lucas sat down.
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
“Does he know about me?”
I looked at my daughter's letter.
“Yes.”
Lucas stared at me.
“For ten years?”
I nodded.
His jaw tightened.
“Then why didn't he come?”
I didn't have an answer.
Not one that would satisfy him.
“I don't know.”
He pushed the photograph away.
“That's worse.”
“I know.”
“No, Grandma. You don't.”
His voice cracked.
“If he knew I existed and still stayed away, then he chose not to be my dad.”
I wanted to argue.
But I couldn't.
He stood.
“I don't want to talk about this.”
“Lucas—”
He walked away.
His bedroom door closed.
I sat alone again.
The photograph remained on the table.
Daniel's face looked impossibly young.
I wondered where he was now.
I wondered whether he had ever stood outside our house.
Whether he had ever driven past the cemetery.
Whether he knew the date of Teagan's death.
The next morning I called Trudy.
She answered after the third ring.
“You opened it.”
“Yes.”
“And Lucas knows?”
“He saw the photograph.”
There was a long silence.
Then Trudy said, “There is more.”
My stomach tightened.
“What more?”
“Daniel came to the hospital.”
I gripped the phone.
“When?”
“After Teagan died.”
“Why didn't anyone tell me?”
“He came late. You were with the baby.”
“What did he want?”
“To see his son.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Trudy hesitated.
“He saw you leaving with Lucas.”
“And?”
“He panicked.”
“Panicked?”
“He said he wasn't ready.”
I felt anger rising.
“Not ready?”
“He was seventeen.”
“Lucas was his son.”
“I know.”
“He should have come in.”
Trudy's voice softened.
“He wanted to.”
“But he didn't.”
“No.”
I stared through the kitchen window.
“So he left.”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
I ended the call.
For the rest of the day, I couldn't concentrate.
I kept thinking about that teenage boy standing outside the hospital while I carried my daughter's child home.
Maybe he had been afraid.
Maybe he had been selfish.
Maybe both things could be true.
That evening, Lucas came downstairs.
He had changed his mind about avoiding the subject.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“Did he ever try to find me?”
I told him the truth.
“He came to the hospital.”
Lucas looked stunned.
“After Mom died?”
“Yes.”
“Did he see me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He was afraid.”
Lucas laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Everybody keeps saying that like it fixes everything.”
“It doesn't.”
“Then what does?”
“I don't know.”
He sat across from me.
“Do you have anything else?”
I thought of the letter.
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Your mother said Daniel was supposed to come back when he was ready.”
Lucas stared at the table.
“Maybe he never became ready.”
“That may be true.”
“Or maybe he forgot.”
I shook my head.
“I don't think he forgot.”
“Then find him.”
The words surprised me.
“What?”
“If he knew about me, I want to know why he disappeared.”
I looked at my grandson.
He wasn't asking for a perfect father.
He was asking for an answer.
So I promised to look.
The next morning I began searching through the small number of details Teagan had left behind.
A school name.
An old baseball team.
A neighborhood.
A photograph.
And finally, a surname.
It took me several hours to find a possible match.
Daniel was alive.
He was no longer seventeen.
He was thirty years old.
He lived in another state.
He worked with children.
I stared at the screen for a long time.
Then I saw his photograph.
He still had the same eyes.
Only now they belonged to a grown man.
I printed the address.
My hand was shaking when I reached for the phone.
Lucas walked into the room.
“Did you find him?”
I looked at him.
“Yes.”
His face changed.
“Where?”
I placed the paper on the table.
“He's about six hours away.”
Lucas stared at the address.
Neither of us spoke.
Then he asked the question I had been dreading.
“Are you going to tell him I'm here?”
I folded the paper.
“No.”
Lucas frowned.
“Why not?”
“Because your mother asked him to come back when he was ready.”
I looked into his eyes.
“This time, if he comes, it needs to be because he chooses to.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: I Thought Finding Daniel Would Give Lucas Answers, Until His First Message Made Me Question What My Daughter Had Never Told Me
The Baby Survived, But the Doctor’s First Words Left Me Realizing My Daughter Was Never Coming Home
Part 3 of 20
