His friend called three days later.
“He’ll meet with us.”
After work, the man went to the local newspaper office. His friend was already there. A reporter came out from the back and led them to an empty table.
“Can I see the letter you found?”
The man took the folded sheet from his bag. The reporter read it through, then went back to the top.
“There’s no name.”
“No.”
“You think it got mixed in with your papers when you ran into the boy?”
“Probably.”
“You never confirmed it?”
“He ran off.”
The reporter placed the letter on the table.
“And reading this made you think about your daughter?”
The man opened his bag again and took out the stack of letters.
“I’d already been writing these.”
“All to her?”
“One every birthday.”
The reporter checked the dates.
“Twelve years?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you send them?”
He explained what his ex-wife had asked of him.
“Do you know where your daughter is now?”
“No.”
The reporter looked at the envelopes for a while.
“If we publish anything, there’s a chance your daughter won’t want to see you. And what she heard from her mother may not be the same as what you remember.”
“I know.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“Whether she wants to see me should be up to her.”
The reporter closed his notebook.
“I’ll talk to my editor. Can I keep the letters for now?”
The man rested one hand on the stack. He had never taken them out of the house before.
“Okay.”
He put the teenager’s letter on top and slid everything across the table. A few days later, the reporter called while he was at work. He waited until his break to call back.
“We got approval to run it.”
“Okay.”
“The first piece will use the letter you found. After that, we’d like to publish some of your letters to your daughter over several installments.”
“All right.”
“We won’t use names or identifying locations.”
“Thank you.”
He ended the call. His desk was still covered with the same work he’d left there.