Chapter 7: The Letter
Chapter 7: The Letter
Three months passed.
Life slowly settled into a new routine.
The scandal faded.
The phone calls stopped.
Family gatherings became smaller.
Quieter.
But not necessarily sadder.
In some strange way, everyone seemed more honest now.
Especially Ethan.
He worked overtime.
Sold more possessions.
Made monthly payments toward the memorial fund without missing a single one.
It wasn't enough to erase what happened.
But it was a start.
Then one rainy Thursday afternoon, Mom called me.
"Can you come over?"
Something in her voice felt different.
When I arrived, she was sitting at the kitchen table holding an old envelope.
The paper had yellowed with age.
My heart skipped.
I recognized Dad's handwriting immediately.
"Dad wrote this?" I asked.
Mom nodded.
"I found it while cleaning the attic."
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
A letter Dad had written only a few months before he died.
The first lines made my throat tighten.
If you're reading this, it means I'm gone.
Mom looked away.
I continued reading.
Dad wrote about family.
About mistakes.
About forgiveness.
About pride.
But one paragraph stopped me cold.
I worry most about Ethan.
Mom quietly wiped away a tear.
I kept reading.
He always feels like he has to prove something. I hope one day he realizes he doesn't need expensive things to be valuable.
Then came another sentence.
And please remind your sister that taking care of everyone else doesn't mean forgetting herself.
I couldn't hold back the tears anymore.
Those words felt like he was speaking directly to us.
Even after all this time.
Then I reached the final page.
And there was one final request.
A year after I'm gone, use the scholarship fund. Don't let it sit untouched. Help someone who needs a chance.
Mom looked at me.
"We never did."
Because of everything that happened.
The fund had been frozen.
Delayed.
Forgotten.
May you like
Until now.
And suddenly we both knew exactly what needed to happen.
