The Message
Vincent hovered over the “Message” button for a full minute.
He didn’t know what he would say.
No apology could bridge twenty-six years of silence.
But his trembling fingers typed anyway.
“Linda… I saw the photo. You did it. I’m so sorry.”
He didn’t expect an answer.
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Days passed. Then one evening, his phone buzzed.
A message. From her.
“Vincent. They’re all grown now. We made it. I forgave you a long time ago.”
He read it over and over. The weight he’d carried — the guilt that had hollowed him — lifted, piece by piece.
“Would they… want to meet me?” he wrote.
The reply came minutes later:
“They’ve always wanted to know who you were. But you’ll have to show them who you are now.”