I thought I knew every secret my husband had taken with him after 41 years of marriage. Then I discovered something hidden inside his favorite winter coat. It was meant for our estranged daughter, and I couldn’t understand why he’d kept it from us.
“You don’t have to get rid of everything today,” my sister Helen said, watching me fill another charity bag.
“I know. But someone could use these.”
My husband, Frank, had been gone for seven months. We’d been married for 41 years, and I’d barely touched his side of the closet.
At 65, I thought I’d be better at letting things go.
“You don’t have to get rid of everything today.”
Helen picked up one of his sweaters.
“You’re keeping this?”
“Frank wore it every Christmas.”
“Maggie, he wore it because you bought it three sizes too big.”
“He said it was comfortable.”
“You’re keeping this?”
“He also said your meatloaf was delicious.”
I gave her a look.
Frank kept everything. His pockets held old receipts, grocery lists, and tissues.
His brown winter coat was last. He’d refused to replace it for years.
When I lifted it off the hanger, something stiff pressed against my hand through the lining.
He’d refused to replace it for years.
“Helen, can you get me the scissors?”
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s something in here.”
A section of the inner seam had been stitched shut with dark thread. Frank had taken the coat for repairs eight years ago. He’d insisted on having the lining stitched shut, though he’d never explained why.
“What’s wrong?”
I cut the stitches carefully and pulled out a thick envelope.
On the front, in Frank’s handwriting, were two words:
“For Emily.”
Emily was our daughter.
We talked every week, and I often visited her and our grandson, Jamie.
“For Emily.”
But she hadn’t spoken to Frank in 15 years.
He’d never approved of her husband, Daniel.
At their wedding, he’d told Emily she was throwing her future away by marrying a man who couldn’t provide for her.
In recent years, Emily refused whenever I mentioned reconciliation.
She hadn’t spoken to Frank in 15 years.
Frank said she’d made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him.
I opened the envelope.
Inside were several folded papers.
“Are those letters?” Helen asked.
I unfolded the first page.
“Are those letters?”
“I think they’re from Emily.”
“Then why would Frank hide them?”
I didn’t answer. I’d recognized my daughter’s handwriting immediately.
The first letter was dated nine years earlier, shortly after Jamie was born.
I didn’t answer.
“Dad, Jamie is here.
I know things are difficult between us, but I’d like you to meet your grandson. You don’t have to agree with my marriage to be part of his life.”
Nine years ago, Frank had told me Emily didn’t want him anywhere near Jamie.
Yet I was holding proof that she’d invited him herself.
“Jamie is here.”
I’d defended Frank so many times. Now I wondered what my daughter had thought of me.
My knees gave way.
Helen rushed over and caught my arm.
“What is it? What did you find?”
I held out the letter.
My knees gave way.
“She invited him, Helen.”
“Who?”
“Emily. She wanted Frank to meet Jamie.”
Helen helped me sit on the floor.
“Then why didn’t he go?”
“Who?”
I stared at the envelope.
I intended to find out.
We took the papers to the kitchen.
The second letter was dated four months later.
I intended to find out.
Emily had written again, asking whether Frank had received her invitation.
She hadn’t asked him to approve of Daniel.
She only wanted him to meet their son.
“Did Frank mention those letters before?”
“Never.”
Emily had written again.
“Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to answer.”
“He had no trouble answering me whenever I mentioned Emily.”
I remembered suggesting a birthday gift for Jamie.
“Don’t waste your money, Margaret,” Frank had said. “Emily doesn’t want anything from me.”
“Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to answer.”
I’d bought Jamie a present from both of us anyway. Emily had thanked me, completely unaware of what her father had said.
