When I saw your message, I did not know what to do. I hadn’t realized my father had reached out to you. Of course, why would I know such a thing? He was a person with his own thoughts and desires. I was heartbroken when I read your letter because I knew how my father would have longed to receive it. I printed out the message, and I went to the hospital. I want you to know, Mrs. Bezas, that there had been no response from my father since he was brought to the hospital. But I held his hand as I read the letter, and you know what he did? What he did was a miracle. He squeezed my hand.

I hope you will forgive me. I couldn’t bear to tell you the truth then. It seemed to me that you needed to say some things, and that my father needed to hear them. So I sent you one of those emoticons. I went along with your assumption that my father couldn’t respond in English, even though my English is quite fine. And I continued to read your letters to him. And he continued to live. The doctors were surprised. They expected him to pass on quickly.

Yesterday, I sobbed as I read him your last letter. What happened to your family was truly horrific. And how that tore you and my father apart—well, I felt both your pain. None of it was your fault, but both of you took on that blame.

On this note, I must tell you, there is a story I know, that it appears you do not. On our ferry back from Corfu after the reunion, my father kept mumbling that he’d tried to save them. I asked him what he meant. He didn’t want to say it, but eventually he told me, not all the contours of the story, but just this one part. That he’d joined with a man named Costas, who led the Greek Resistance on Lefkada. At night, he snuck to the place where the Jews were being held and searched frantically for your family—but was unable to find them. It was dark, he said, with the Germans on guard. They had to move quickly. There was nothing he could do. He helped others escape instead, and you cannot fathom his guilt, Mrs. Bezas. Trust me, for I saw it ooze from his pores. He didn’t tell you this story because he was ashamed. It was your family he wanted to save, and he felt that he failed. Even though he risked his life to try.

Well, Mrs. Bezas, I thought you would want to know.