“I know,” he said.
My fingers tightened around the ring as a strange, creeping unease settled in my chest.
I turned back to the letter, my vision blurring.
“Before you met me, there was a part of my life I buried so deeply I convinced myself it didn’t matter anymore.
But it did. Because it led me to you… and to him.”
I looked up again, this time staring directly at the young man.
Something in his face—something I hadn’t allowed myself to notice before—now struck me with quiet force.
The shape of his eyes.
The line of his jaw.
A reflection I knew too well.
“No…” I whispered.
His voice broke when he spoke.
“My name is Daniel,” he said. “Daniel Hayes.”
The world tilted.
I sank slowly into the booth, my legs no longer steady.
The young man—Daniel—sat across from me, careful, respectful, like he didn’t want to frighten me.
“I didn’t know about you either,” he said gently. “Not until a few months ago.”
My hands trembled as I held the letter.
“What is this?” I asked. “What is he saying?”
Daniel exhaled, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
“My mother passed away last year,” he said. “After that, I found a box of letters. Old ones. From your husband.”
I closed my eyes briefly, my chest tightening.
“Peter?” I whispered.
Daniel nodded.
“He supported us,” he continued. “Quietly. Financially. He visited when he could… but he never stayed long. He told my mother he had a life he couldn’t leave behind.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“No…” I said, shaking my head. “No, Peter would never—”
