All lies.
The Final Letter
At the bottom of the compartment was an envelope with my name.
Inside, Grandpa wrote:
“My dear Marin, If you are reading this, it means I am no longer here to explain these things in person, and I am sorry for that. I had hoped you would never need to open this box.
The truth is simple, but painful: your father did not die in the accident that took your mother. He and your mother were already divorced at that time.
When your mother died, I tried to keep him involved in your life. I wrote, I called, I begged him to help with the costs of raising you. Every time, he answered the same way: that you were ‘part of his old life,’ and he had moved on.
He didn’t want to pay child support. He didn’t want visitation. He didn’t want responsibility.
I fought for you because you deserved to be wanted. But after a while, I stopped.
Everything you needed, I tried my best to give. Everything he refused to offer, I filled in with whatever strength I had left.
Still, I believe you have the right to know where he is, should you ever need answers for yourself. Enclosed is his last known address.
