I opened the envelope with trembling hands.
“Linda,
I deserve every bitter word you could throw at me. I wanted to tell you the truth a thousand times, but I was never man enough to stand there and see the hate in your eyes.
I told myself I was protecting you, just like when I let you go. I thought you’d have a better life without me.
Watching you — your roses, your strength, that fire in you — it was the only good thing I did at the end.
I hope one day you forgive Mom for all she couldn’t do. And maybe, you’ll find a way to forgive me, too.
Take care of Mom. Take care of yourself. No more secrets now.
Love, Dad”
Hot tears fell on the paper. I couldn’t recall the last time I let myself weep. All my life, I tried to be strong. I was strong when my parents departed.
I remained strong even when no one returned for me.
When Mr. Sloan threw dirt on my blooms, I stood strong.
My father is punishing me for being his ghost.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, hugging my knees. The thunderstorm has passed. I eventually took Rose’s hand. Her eyes were puffy, as if she had been crying too.
“I don’t know how to forgive you yet,” I muttered.
“I know.”
“But I want to try. I want us both to try.”
“We’ve wasted so many years.”
“Then we won’t waste what we have left.”
We sat there, two women who had been too hard on the world and ourselves, feeling as if we no longer had to battle alone.
Outside, the flowers bent in the breeze. But they did not break.
And neither would we.
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