“To whoever finds my girls…”
I stopped breathing.
“What is this?” I looked up at them.
“What does this mean?”
Emily’s face broke.
“Dad…
she knew about us before you did.”
I read the next line.
And the next.
And then my legs gave out.
What was inside that letter?
The full truth is more shocking than anyone could imagine.
Click the link below to read the complete story.
* * *
PART 3
* * *
The letter was dated three days before the accident.
Three days.
Naomi had written it by hand, in the careful script I’d recognize anywhere — the same handwriting on the grocery lists she used to stick to the fridge, on the birthday card she gave me the year before.
“To whoever finds my girls,” it began.
My girls.
Not “my baby.” Not “my daughter.”
My girls.
Plural.
I looked at Emily.
Then at Grace.
“How long have you known?” My voice didn’t sound like mine.
Emily wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“Since last summer.
We were looking for Christmas decorations in the attic.
The box was behind the winter coats.”
“I told you never to open that box.”
“I know.”
“Why did you?”
Grace answered this one.
“Because you cried in your sleep, Dad.
You still do.
We heard you one night and we couldn’t pretend anymore.”
I set the letter down on the table.
My fingers left damp prints on the paper.
“Read the rest,” Emily said.
“Please.
Out loud.”
I picked it up again.
“To whoever finds my girls — my name is Naomi.
I am thirty-six weeks pregnant with twin girls.
The doctors say there is a complication.
They say I might not make it.
I am writing this in case I don’t.”
I stopped.
“Keep going,” Grace said.
“If you are reading this, someone brought my daughters to you.
Someone I trusted with my life.
Please love them.
Please don’t let them grow up feeling unwanted.
Please tell them their mother wanted them more than anything in this world.”
Emily was gripping the edge of the table.
“And if the person who finds them is the man I love — if by some miracle it is you — then please know I am sorry.
I should have told you there were two.
I wanted it to be a surprise.
I was going to tell you on a Sunday.
I had little blue sailboat towels picked out for them.
I thought it would be funny.
You always said one baby would change our life.
I wanted to see your face when you realized it was two.”
The kitchen went silent.
Grace was holding Emily’s hand so tightly their knuckles were white.
“I love you.
I love them.
If you’re reading this, it means I’m gone.
But they’re still here.
Please find them.
Please raise them.
Please don’t let my girls grow up alone.”
I couldn’t read anymore.
“You knew,” I said.
Not a question.
Emily nodded.
“We found the letter.
We found the photo.
We found a hospital bracelet in the box with a name on it.”
“What name?”
She looked at her sister.
Grace said, “Chris.”
The room tilted.
“Chris?” I said.
“Chris from the beach?
Chris who drove me there?”
“Yes.”
“Why would his name be on a hospital bracelet?”
“Because he’s the one who brought us to you, Dad.”
I sat down on the kitchen floor.
I didn’t choose to sit.
My legs just stopped working.
Emily knelt beside me.
“There’s more.
In the box.
We found a second envelope.
It’s addressed to you.
We didn’t open it.
We wanted you to read it with us.”
She reached into the pink towel — the one she’d been holding — and pulled out a small white envelope.
My name was on the front.
Naomi’s handwriting.
I stared at it for a long time.
“Dad,” Grace said.
“We need to call Chris.”
“Not yet.”
“He’s part of this.
You know he is.”
“I know he is.
That’s why I need to read this first.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single page.
