Page 16 of Big Risks

I take a large sip of the lemonade, welcoming the sour bite. It gives me something to focus on besides the panic.

"I know I probably shouldn't have read them," Hailey continues, looking slightly guilty. "But the first one fell open when I was sorting, and I couldn't stop. The way he writes... it's like he'spainting pictures with words. Making the desert sound beautiful and terrible at the same time."

I remember writing that exact phrase—beautiful and terrible. I was describing a sunset over sand dunes that stretched to the horizon, all pink and gold against the darkening sky. How I'd wished Red could see it, even as I was grateful she was safe at home, away from the danger.

Except she wasn't safe.

"Are you okay?" Hailey asks, and I realize I've been silent too long.

"Fine," I say quickly. "Just thinking about work."

Olivia, bored with adult conversation, slips off the couch. "Can I see your plants? Daddy says I'm good with plants because I remember to talk to them."

"Absolutely," Hailey tells her. "The ones in the window especially love conversation."

As Olivia skips away, Hailey turns back to me, her expression softening as she drinks her lemonade. “The letters have mesmerized me. I read one or two a night.”

"What makes them so special? They're just letters." I ask.

"They're not just letters," she says, with such conviction it startles me. "They're windows into someone's soul. This man—he writes about his fears, his dreams, how much he misses his girl. How he keeps going because he knows she's waiting." Her voice catches. "It feels like I know him. Like he's someone I could—"

She stops, a flush creeping up her neck.

"Could what?" I ask, even though I shouldn't.

"Could understand," she finishes, but I hear the word she swallowed:love.

Something twists in my chest. Hope and dread tangled together so tightly I can't separate them. She's connecting with a version of me that doesn't exist anymore. He was the man I was before grief hollowed me out, before I became this shell going through the motions of living.

"Daddy, look! This plant has purple underneath its leaves!" Olivia calls from the window.

The interruption gives me a moment to compose myself. "That's pretty cool, Liv."

Hailey sets the letter down, smiling at my daughter's enthusiasm. "That's a purple waffle plant. Good eye."

"We should probably get going," I say, setting my half-finished drink on the tray. "Thanks for the lemonade."

"So soon?" Disappointment flickers across her face.

"Thanks for having us," I say as Liv joins me at the door.

There's a moment, brief but electric, where we just look at each other. Where I could lean forward, where I could tell her the truth. Instead, I squeeze Olivia’s hand to remind me we have an audience.

"Goodnight, Hailey."

"Goodnight, Walker."

The drive home is short but feels infinite, my mind replaying every moment, every smile, and every word about those damn letters.

After dinner and tucking Olivia in to bed, I find myself in my office, opening the bottom drawer of my desk where I keep a few letters that were returned to sender. I pull out one at random, unfolding the paper with trembling hands.

My dearest Red,

I dreamed of home last night. Not our house, but you. You are my home wherever you are...

The words blur as tears fill my eyes. For the first time in years, I let myself remember writing these words. The hope, the love, the certainty that we had forever ahead of us.

I don't know how long I sit there, reading words I once believed with my whole heart. When I finally fold the letter and put it away, something has changed. A door I thought permanently sealed has cracked open, just enough to let in a sliver of light.

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