*“But I had to live. I had to feed her. I got a job in a stone yard, doing custom headstones and garden statues. I worked until my hands bled. I’d come home, feed Sarah, put her to bed, and go back to the stone.”*
*“My back ached, my fingers were stiff, but I didn’t stop. I needed the money, and I needed the work.”* Nick tapped a rhythm on the steering wheel, his heart racing. *“Sarah grew up. She was a bright, happy girl. Beautiful.”*
*“Everyone said she was her father’s twin—the same eyes, the same laugh. I’d look at her and see Andrew, and it hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt. She loved to dance. She’d twirl around the kitchen like a little ballerina, humming to herself.”*
The tone of the letter shifted, becoming warmer, like a patch of sunlight. *“When she was fourteen, she got into a performing arts school. She was so talented. I was so proud.”*
*“She danced through high school and joined a local company. She wasn’t a star, but she was part of something beautiful. I went to every show. I’d sit in the back and cry. My Sarah. My girl.”*
Nick turned the page. *“I was doing better, too. My sculptures were getting noticed. I had a small gallery show. I finally had a little money.”*
*“We moved into a decent house. Sarah had her own room, filled with dance posters and photos. I had a studio in the garage. We were happy, just the two of us. We didn’t need anyone else.”*
Nick leaned back, his head throbbing. *“She was my light. When I’d wake up and hear her singing in the shower, I knew life was worth it.”*
*“When she’d hug me and say, ‘Love you, Mom,’ I forgot about the men at the door and the cold prison walls. There was only her.”* Nick looked at the remaining pages. There were about ten left.
He stacked the read pages on his lap. Outside, the blizzard was a wall of white. He thought about his own life—the mortgage, the argument over the grocery bill, the way he’d snapped at Nancy and stormed out.
It felt small. It felt incredibly, embarrassingly small. Sarah. January 6th. Birthday. *Sarah would have been fifty-seven today.* Nick turned back to the stack and grabbed the next page.
The ink on this page was blurred, as if the paper had been wet. Nick blinked, wiped his eyes, and focused. The handwriting had changed—it was jagged, nervous. There were smudges where tears had hit the page.
*“April, 1998. Sarah was thirty. She was rehearsing for a new show. I remember that day perfectly. She left in the morning, kissed my cheek, and said, ‘Mom, rehearsal’s running late, don’t wait up for dinner.’“*
*“I waved to her from the porch. She looked so light, like she could just float away. That was the last time I saw her alive.”* Nick gripped the paper so hard it tore slightly. *“The hospital called that night. An accident.”*
*“A car ran a red light. It was over instantly. That’s what the doctors said—she didn’t suffer. They kept saying it like it was supposed to help.”*
*“I don’t remember the morgue. I don’t remember the funeral. I just remember standing by the grave and feeling… nothing. Just a great, empty hole where my heart used to be. I wanted to go with her.”*
*“I wanted to lie down in the dirt and never wake up. My hands wouldn’t work anymore. I’d go to the studio, pick up a chisel, and just stand there. My fingers felt like they’d turned to stone. I lost my contracts. I lost my house.”*
*“I ended up in a tiny apartment, staring at the walls. Life had no point. I had no one.”* Nick turned the page. *“Bill. I remembered my brother, Bill.”*
*“The big brother who protected me. I thought of him after Sarah died. He’d moved out West in the sixties, working the mines. He’d written for a while, then the letters stopped.”*
*“I tried to find him. I wrote to the unions, the state records, the archives. Nothing.”* Nick rubbed his jaw. The stubble felt like sandpaper.
*“The years were hard. I lost my apartment to a predatory landlord. I signed some papers I didn’t understand, and they put me out on the street. I ended up in a tiny room with a shared bathroom, living on a social security check that barely covered the rent.”*
*“But I didn’t give up. Do you know why?”*
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