"And then one day," she continued, voice trembling, "he sent me a letter with a photo of you. He said, 'I can't wait to introduce you to someone important. Someone I trust with my life.'"
I closed my eyes.
It hurt.
It hurt like fire in my veins. Like ice cracking my spine open. Like grief burying itself under my fingernails and behind my teeth.
I didn't realize I was shaking until I tightened my grip on the cup and heard it crumple.
"I waited," she went on, now crying quietly. "But he stopped replying. Just like that. I thought maybe he was on a mission. Maybe he lost the letters. I didn't know until I tried to find him again. And I saw his name on the deceased list."
She covered her mouth with one hand, trying to breathe through it.
"I never even got to meet him," she sobbed. "I never got to say hi or hold his hand or argue about something stupid or laugh at his jokes. He died and I... "
She choked back the next word.
I was silent.
