The Confession
Dear Peter
You’ve probably realised by now - this letter is not a scribbled note asking you to pop out for a pint of milk. I’m ashamed of my cowardice. You should be hearing this directly from me. I’m sorry but it seems I can’t.
I’ve left you and I don’t want you to come looking for me. If it’s any consolation, this is not about another man. I will be alone, as I deserve to be.
There are things I have never told you and they’ve caught up with me, as I knew they one day would. When you know the truth you will be angry and heartbroken, which is why I can’t face you. Or her.
In the top drawer of my dresser, you will find another letter. It’s from my daughter. She found a way of contacting me. I gave her up for adoption seventeen years ago. And even though a day hasn’t gone by when I haven’t thought about her, I now find I can’t summon the courage to meet her.
You need to think back seventeen years, Peter. We went out together in 1998, then broke up for a couple of years, before reuniting again. You see, she’s your daughter too and she’s called Miranda. Please tell her I love her.
THE END