Neither of us knew what to do. We were so conflicted; we were moral, respectable people who’d fallen in love. So we arranged for a private adoption; we agreed that Ellen and I would raise you as our own. And that perhaps one day Donna and I could be together. The memories of my time with her on the Vineyard were deep—and why I wanted to go back every year. I wanted to feel the kind of happiness again that I’d felt with her. And I often did, especially as you grew up, whenever I saw her in your eyes and your hair and your beautiful face.

I never saw Donna again. We both carried so much guilt, and we wanted to do what was best for you. At that time, divorce was still a stigma, never mind what we had done. Sometimes we wrote, and I sent her lots of pictures and other news of you. Your American Girl dolls had all been gifts from her. I pretended that I’d bought them.

After many years, she married, and staying in touch became too difficult. When you went to college, I returned the dolls to her so she’d have something that had been a nice part of your childhood.

Ellen never knew the truth about your birth. And if she’s still alive when you read this, I trust that you won’t share it with her.

I love you so much, Annie. You have been the greatest joy in my life. And while it’s true that you were unexpected, you were never, ever, a mistake.

I hope, in time, you will forgive us. But Donna and I had agreed that at some point it would be only fair to you to let you know who your real father was. It was me. One and the same. I hope that’s okay with you.

Because we had a pretty good life, didn’t we, kiddo?

Much love,
Daddy

Annie stared, unmoving, at the letter. She wanted to tell Kevin that she now knew why Donna had wanted her ashes sprinkled off of South Beach. She wanted to tell John—and Lucy—she knew who her birth father was. She wanted to tell Earl and Claire and, especially, Winnie. Because in Winnie’s words, now that Annie knew her past, she might be better able to guide her future.

But those things were to come. Right then, more than anything, Annie only wanted to sit a while longer, and reread the letter from her dad. And then read it again.

It’s okay, my friend, she heard Murphy’s voice. I’m right here beside you. In fact, all of us are.

Author’s Note

Author’s Note