Page 107 of Together Is Where We Belong

Leo climbed into the back and settled beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him grab something from beside him and put it in his lap, but I was too nervous to look at what it was.

“You look like you’re ready to bolt,” he said with a laugh.

“I’m just nervous,” I admitted as I nervously put my hair behind my ear and looked over at him.

“Why? There’s nothin’ to be nervous about. I just wanted to spend some time with you,” he said with a soft smile as he nudged my arm with his playfully.

I let out a sigh of relief and relaxed. I don’t know why my mind automatically went to the worst-case scenarios.

I looked down at his lap and noticed a stack of letters that looked all too familiar. None of them appeared to be open. I stared at that stack of letters, and tears filled my eyes. Looking back up at him, I opened my mouth and closed it, unable to speak.

“I’ve been too scared to open these. I know I’ll get emotional at the realization of everything I’ve missed, and I didn’t have the courage to open them alone. I thought we could open them together if you’re up for it, and you could give me some context if I have any questions,” he confessed, and my lip trembled at the sweetness of the gesture.

I pulled his hand away from the letters and brought it to my lap, covering it with both my hands to comfort him.

“That sounds like a good idea.” I smiled even though my heart ached for the words he was about to read. He’d taken to being a father so well, and I knew it pained him that he’d missed so much of Luke’s life. But I was glad he wanted to open the letters with me.

He opened the letter on top and cleared his throat before he began to read the words aloud.

Leo,

Today our beautiful baby boy entered the world kicking and screaming. He’s so precious. I know they say you can’t tell who babies look like when they’re first born, but I swear he looks just like you. I wish you were here to see him. All seven pounds eight ounces and twenty-one inches of him. I know it’s crazy, but I counted every finger and toe and admired how perfect he is. Please call me. My number’s the same. I want you to be a part of his life.

I hope this letter finds you well.

Carolina

Tears streamed down Leo’s face as he set the letter down and looked down at the photos I’d included of Luke. His finger traced over every inch of Luke’s face.

He looked over at me, his eyes filled with sadness and awe.

The photo floated to Leo’s lap as it left his hand. Before I knew it, Leo pulled me in for a hug. His arms wrapped around my shoulders as his tears hit my bare skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he said through his tears, and I wrapped my arms around his middle to hold him tight. Comforting him the only way I knew how. We stayed wrapped in each other’s arms until Leo’s tears subsided.

He pulled back, his eyes red and puffy as he wiped them with the back of his hands.

We opened letter after letter and I rested my head on his shoulder so I could look down and see the baby photos of Luke.

His first time crawling.

His first steps.

His first foods.

His first day of preschool.

The first time he rode his bike. The first scrape of his knee. His first day of school.

Every one of Luke’s firsts photographed and explained in a letter. When Luke was old enough and he learned how to write, I included his handwriting as well. After I’d told him about Leo when he was old enough and asked, he wanted to write letters too.

Leo broke down at the sight of Luke’s messy handwriting addressed to him.

Photos were scattered in the bed of his truck by the time we’d opened the last letter dated just a couple of months before we’d returned to Haven Valley.

He dried his tears, as I dried mine too. Both of us were emotionally drained by the time the last letter fell from his hands.

He cleared his throat a few times before he looked over at me.