Dear Danny

• Lillian Flemons, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2009

Dear Danny

I'm not really sure why I'm writing this, or even if I should. Sitting on a cliff with the sun just rising, spilling its pink-gold rays across the surface of the water, you begin to think life is perfect. But it’s not, I know. Beside me is a small girl, curled up with her head resting on my lap. A girl I gave birth to nine years ago. A girl named Sophie. Your daughter.
Nine years is a long time, perhaps too long to ask for an apology or to give one. But that doesn’t matter; I'm going to try anyway.
My father used to always say that you can never make a wrong decision. I know now that that isn’t true, because I have made one.
I still haven't figured out what really happened that day, just a blur of intense sorrow and pain, on the outside and within. What I do know is that I lost it that day - perhaps unfairly, perhaps not – and for that I'm sorry. But coming home with my heart full of love and my belly full of baby to find you sprawled on the couch, drunk, high and whatever else you were, hurt me like you'll never believe. I always knew you were wild, you had your addictions, but I thought I made them end. I thought you cared more for me and the baby than any drug or pill. Obviously, I was wrong.
I call the days that followed the Sleepless Days, but really they were weeks. I can't remember much from them either, only a seemingly endless age of waking nightmares, self-starvation, loneliness and intense dark. It was only when Stacey came over and reminded me of what I carried in my womb did I pick myself back up again. I became a bit obsessive then, trying to make every bit of pregnancy perfect to make up for the weeks I lost. I guess it must have worked, though, 'cos Sophie's turned out pretty damn magical.
I realise now this isn’t about forgiving you, or asking for forgiveness in return, it’s more that I’ve made a resolution to no longer be so selfish. All these years I have stayed away with my anger bottled up and boiling away inside me, blocking out any thoughts about you or your feelings. And I would still be that way now – perhaps I am – if it weren’t for Sophie, my beloved broken baby. And so, for her sake, I ask for a truce, between love and hatred; between you and me.
This is the end of the beginning, the beginning of the end. I want all this pain, these flowing tears to end. If you never reply to this letter, I’ll understand. If you’ve moved on and forgotten, I won’t. I’m not asking for your love, only your acceptance. I’m not asking for a family, only a father for my child.
All I’m asking is for you to meet your daughter.
Jane