A laugh broke through my tears.
Adrian looked away politely.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
**I’m not asking you to look after her. She would hate that, and I would deserve whatever she did to me afterward. I’m asking you to remember this: if you ever meet her without me in the room, don’t treat her like something fragile. She isn’t. Just remind her sometimes that a life can be more than responsibility. Maybe you’ll learn the same thing while you’re at it.**
I lowered the letter.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
“He wasn’t sick yet,” I whispered.
“No.”
“Then why write this?”
“Because he had become a father.”
That answer made sense.
Painfully, beautifully, ordinarily.
Daniel had not foreseen his death.
He had not arranged my future.
He had simply become a new father, suddenly aware that life was fragile and people mattered, and written a heartfelt note to a friend.
