That night, after Jane left, I spread the letters across the table. One by one, I read them, watching decades unfold. Martin had quietly maintained this connection, never pressuring Dolly, just keeping her informed—Jane’s wedding, Jake’s graduation, the grandchildren’s births, even the small everyday moments.
“She started humming again in the kitchen. It reminded me of when we were younger.”
I stopped reading, tears filling my eyes.
By morning, I knew what I had to do.
I called Jake. “Hey, Mom. Everything okay?”
“No,” I admitted. “I need your help.”
