Little Lynell,

I am sorry I will not see you grow. That is my greatest regret in life. I will not get to see you fall in love, create your own words, or discover the world. I will not know your heart or the way your face ages.

Please don’t be angry with me for leaving. I promise I mean only to protect you. Perhaps one day you’ll realize why. Your mother—your dear mother—opened my eyes to a world I never thought was possible. And until my dying breath, I will do everything in my power to make that world reality. If I am killed in the attempt, do not be angry. Know that I left with hope for the future. A future that is not defined by the past.

You, too, are not defined by your past, Little Lynell. You are not defined by the choices of your absent father or unknown grandfather. Someday it may seem like that. I hope not. It is my dream for you that you are not defined by things outside your control, but by your own heart. Your own choices.

It is okay to resent me, but please also hear me. Learn from me. Do not take for granted what you have. Never forget that you are loved. Use your Registration wisely. Cherish life and the privilege of choice.

If I fail to create the future your mother helped me see, perhaps you will succeed. Don’t settle for what has always been. Demand better. Be better.

Know the worth of love, Lynell. Of joy. Of forgiveness. Know the worth and double it. Live it. Hope for more. Do not transpose your values. Know that your father will always love you. Know that I would change anything to get to see you once more. I love you so much. You are strong, kind, joyful, wise, and so full of patience. Never lose that.

Love, Dad

She recites the letter in her head, trying to decipher where a code could be hidden in the words her father wrote two decades ago.

Love

Joy.

Forgiveness.

Live.

Hope.

Value.

Strong, kind, wise, and patient.

She says these words over and over like a mantra. She rearranges letters in her mind’s eye trying to form a new word, but nothing she comes up with makes sense. She tries to imagine her father writing the words. How long did he spend writing the letter, hiding the code in the words? Did he know his brother was plotting his murder?

Lynell tugs at her hair in frustration and lies down on the bed, squeezing her eyes shut as she thinks. She could give the letter to Eric with the stipulation that she be involved in deciding what to do with it. If Zach was right, then using the code was a bad idea. It could ruin their country. But Daniel would want them to, she thinks. He would probably support ending the Registration no matter the consequences.

If she doesn’t survive, what kind of world does she want to leave behind?