“Nice to meet you. I’m Catherine. I guess I own the house now. I received a call I needed to check on things.”

Mary clasps her hands together as if she’s praying. Her smile is bright and warm. “Oh! I’m just … Catherine.” She walks a little faster to reach me. “Let me see you.”

My eyes widen. Somehow she seems to know who I am. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

Her smile doesn’t fade when she reaches me. “No, dear. I knew Hunter—your father—for a very long time. I always hoped I’d get to meet you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, of course. Come. Let’s go inside and you can tell me all about yourself.” Her grip is surprisingly firm as she takes my hand and pulls me inside.

When I enter I try to take it all in. It’s nothing like the home I grew up in. The rooms are large, but everything is stark—bare white walls, hardwood floors. It lacks any warmth. Everything is … cold. There’s a small television in the corner with a recliner and a small sofa situated in front of it.

I continue on as Mary walks through the hall into another room. The outdated kitchen has a card table with four chairs around it. On the wall there’s a calendar and a phone list. I look through the names, most of which are doctors.

“Would you like some tea, dear?” Mary asks while filling the kettle with water.

“Sure,” I say with a smile. I don’t drink tea, but she seems so kind and she knew my father, so maybe she can answer my questions. “So how long did you know my father?”

“I’ve lived in that house since the day I got married. It was my late husband’s wedding gift to me.” You can hear the smile in her voice as she places the kettle on the stove. “My husband, Ray, was a wonderful man. He served in the Army,” she says with pride.

“He sounds wonderful. You’re a very lucky woman.”

“I was,” she says, holding out the chair for me to sit. “We were married for sixty-two years and we were blessed with four boys. They’ve all grown and now I have beautiful grandchildren that I get to spoil. But enough about me.” Mary places her hand on mine. “You want to know about your father, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I look around the room at the house he lived in. If I were to judge how he lived based on what I’ve seen so far, the one word I can think of is empty. There are no photos, nothing adorning the walls, it’s merely a house.

“Well, he moved here around fifteen years ago. It took him about a year until he warmed up to us. Ray was good at forcing him to come out of his house by asking him to help fix things.” Mary looks away wistfully. “Ray could’ve done the things he asked for help with, but Hunter couldn’t say no to an old man.” She chuckles. “Eventually, he opened up little by little.”

The kettle whistles and Mary and I get up to make the tea. She already set out the cups and tea bags. Listening to how she knows him breaks my heart. I’m jealous of the woman who knew the man I so desperately needed. However, I’m grateful in a sense for people like her and Ray, who were there for him. He wasn’t completely alone. And neither was I—I had Ashton, Gretchen, and my mother.

Once we have our drinks, we sit back down. “Thank you.” She takes a sip before beginning again. “I came to learn about you from your father. He was very sad in the beginning. At times he would talk about a girl named Catherine, but didn’t tell us you were his daughter. Anyway, one day I asked him to tell me about her. He sat with me for quite some time, telling me all about you.”

“He left when I was nine.” My voice is tiny and I’m not sure that Mary heard me.

“He told me. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done. I think as the years went on he convinced himself that it was for the best. But then he’d show us a photo or tell us about something you did. There was always such pride in his eyes when he spoke about you, dear.”

My eyes lift to hers and I read the truth behind them. He said he’d followed me. I guess he’d shared what he learned with Mary. I’m conflicted by the years of hate and anger now turning to sympathy. He said he stayed away because he wanted to protect me, and initially I thought it was a cop-out. Now I’m confused. Maybe everything he wrote in the letter wasn’t a lie.

“He wrote me a letter while he was sick. Did you know that?”

“No, he never mentioned a letter.” Her gray brow rises. “When he found out he was sick, he changed a lot of things. He didn’t suffer for long. It was very late in the disease when he was diagnosed. He talked a lot more about you and what he gave up toward the end, though.” Mary pats my hand, giving me a warm smile. “You know, when we know our time is running out, we think more about the choices we made. I’m sure his letter was sincere.” She gets up from the table and washes the cups before she returns to sit with me.

“I don’t know what to think anymore. It feels like everything I knew was a lie.” A tear drops as the sadness returns. “I blamed myself all my life. I always felt like I’d done something as a kid to make him leave. Then I get this letter saying it wasn’t me, it was him. My entire life I’ve believed I wasn’t good enough for him to come back for.”

Mary places her hand on my arm. “The heart knows the truth. When times are hard, we have to rely on the voice in our hearts. Trust yourself, Catherine. I do know the Hunter I knew would’ve never left because of you.”

“I wish I’d known him.” I sigh and look away. That’s the bottom line. I know nothing about him. I don’t know how he lived, if he was sad or happy, if he wished things were different—although his letter says he did.

“There’s an office down the hall on the left. He spent a lot of time in there. There are probably some things that might give you some peace.” She wipes the tear from my cheek. “Sometimes the heart and mind don’t work together, but a child is never to blame for the errors of the parent. We all make mistakes, but forgiveness sets the soul free.” Mary rises from her seat and I stand as well. “I’m going to lie down for a bit and give you some time alone, but promise you’ll come back and visit soon.”

“I promise,” I say as she walks out the door, giving me time to absorb everything.

I walk through the rooms, looking around and trying to figure out who he really was when I come across the office she spoke of. There’s a small desk and a bookshelf inside. I gasp and my hands cover my heart when I see the top shelf. It’s lined with photos of me. Every picture is in chronological order, from my infant photo at the hospital all the way through third grade. There are even some where I’m older. My high school graduation picture and my newspaper engagement announcement are framed. He has little bits of my life all around the room.

I make my way to his desk and look around. He was so alone. It has papers and bills, but the photo sitting on top causes a sob to break free. It’s a photo of us on my birthday. He’s standing behind me right as I’m inhaling to blow out the candles on my cake. The love in his eyes shines as bright as the flames.

Overloaded with varying degrees of heartache, I rush out of the room, gasping for air. Nothing makes any sense. The world seems to be shifting, but I’m not shifting with it. I can’t wrap my mind around why he chose to keep that door closed. He could have come to me and talked to me, tried to explain. I might have been mad, but we could’ve had a chance at some kind of relationship. So much wasted time, so many tears that didn’t need to be shed. He was there for parts of my life even though I never knew.

Is this the life I’m heading toward?

I lock up the house and make sure everything is secure. I need to decide what to do with the house, but not today. I feel a sense of peace settle around me. I’ve gained some answers or at least some insight. Getting into my car, I allow the silence to surround me as the sun shines upon on my face.