“My dearest Martha… I’ll come for you and our son when the time is right.”
Our son?
I kept reading.
The letters talked about a boy. About watching him grow. About being proud of him.
Then I saw the name.
James.
My son.
The next day, I confronted Martha.
She broke down.
Before me, she had been engaged to a man named Daniel. He was drafted to Vietnam. After he left, she found out she was pregnant.
He wrote to her, promising to come back.
But then his plane went missing. Everyone thought he was dead.
She met me shortly after. We married. I thought James was premature.
He wasn’t.
He was Daniel’s son.
I thought that was the whole story.
But it wasn’t.
Daniel had survived. He had been a prisoner of war and returned years later.
One letter said he had found her again, but chose not to interfere. He had watched us from a distance all those years.
Read more by clicking the (NEXT »») button below!
