Chapter 16 - Seventeen Letters
We opened Richard’s letters together.
Not because I asked my children to come.
Because for once, they asked me.
Michael arrived first.
Then Fiona.
Laura came last with swollen eyes and no wedding ring.
We sat at the same dining table that had been empty on Christmas night.
Seventeen chairs.
This time only four were occupied.
It felt more honest.
Richard had written one letter for each child, each grandchild, each spouse, and one for me.
Some were funny.
Some painfully simple.
To Michael: Stop measuring your worth by what you can provide. Your family needs your presence more than your performance.
Michael cried before he finished reading.
To Fiona: Charm opens doors, but character decides whether you deserve to stay in the room.
She covered her face.
To Laura: Do not confuse keeping peace with surrendering yourself.
Laura broke completely.
I moved toward her, then stopped.
She looked up.
“Can you hold me?”
So I did.
For a long time.
My own letter was last.
Elena,
If I go first, you are going to try to keep everybody together. That is who you are. But promise me one thing: never make yourself smaller so other people can feel bigger. A family should gather around your table because they love you, not because you keep giving them reasons to need you.
I stopped reading.
The room blurred.
There was one final line.
And if they ever forget your value, remind yourself before you remind them.
No one spoke.
Then the front doorbell rang.
Fiona checked the camera.
Her face changed.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“There are people outside.”
“How many?”
She counted.
Then looked at me.
“Thirteen.”
I walked to the window.
My grandchildren stood on the porch with coats, casserole dishes, grocery bags, and one crooked handmade sign.
WE MISSED CHRISTMAS.
Behind them stood two of my former daughters-in-law, three family friends, and Samuel Ortiz.
Michael looked at me.
“Did you invite them?”
“No.”
Then my oldest grandson lifted his phone and showed me a message.
May you like
Grandma, there’s something you need to see before you let everyone in.
