Chapter 22 Letters
1107 Words
Three days after the first kick, the letter arrived.
Lily almost missed it.
She had Emma’s future daycare brochures spread across the kitchen table, highlighter in hand, trying to pretend she understood things like tuition plans and infant ratios. Her mom’s voice floated faintly from the living room, the television murmuring in the background after a long shift at work.
The mailbox hadn’t even been on her mind.
It wasn’t until her mother walked in holding a single white envelope that Lily’s breath caught.
“This came for you,” her mom said gently.
Lily didn’t need to look closely to recognize the handwriting.
Her heart reacted before her brain did—skipping, stuttering, racing all at once.
Ethan.
His handwriting was slightly slanted, rushed but careful at the same time. She’d watched him scribble notes in class for years. She’d seen that handwriting on sticky notes tucked into her locker, on birthday cards, on the back of movie tickets he insisted she keep.
Now it looked different somehow.
Farther away.
Her fingers trembled as she took the envelope.
“You okay?” her mom asked quietly.
Lily nodded, though she wasn’t sure that was true.
“I’ll be in my room,” she said softly.
She walked down the hallway slowly, the envelope clutched tightly in her hand like it might disappear if she loosened her grip. Her bedroom door clicked shut behind her, sealing her into a quiet that suddenly felt too loud.
She sat on the edge of her bed.
Stared at his name.
Her name.
Together, written across a distance neither of them had truly understood when he left.
For weeks, she had been angry.
Angry that he enlisted without telling her.
Angry that he made a decision that changed both their lives.
Angry that she found out she was pregnant after he was already gone.
She hadn’t written back to his last letter.
She didn’t know what to say.
But now, as she traced the edge of the envelope with her thumb, the anger felt tangled up with something softer.
Lonelier.
Carefully, she slid her finger beneath the flap and opened it.
The paper inside was slightly wrinkled, like it had been folded and unfolded more than once before being sealed. She imagined him sitting somewhere foreign and loud, hesitating over what to write.
She unfolded it slowly.
Lily,
Basic is harder than I thought it would be. They wake us up before the sun and by the time I lay down at night, I can barely feel my legs.
I’m not saying that for sympathy. I just want you to know I’m not quitting. I won’t.
Every time I want to give up, I think about you.
Her vision blurred slightly.
She swallowed and kept reading.
I picture you rolling your eyes when I say something stupid. I picture the way you bite your lip when you’re concentrating.
I know you’re probably still mad at me. You have every right to be. I should’ve told you before I signed the papers. I should’ve trusted you with that decision.
I just… I didn’t want to see you cry and lose my nerve.
Lily’s chest tightened.
She could see it clearly now—him standing in her driveway that last night, jaw clenched too tight, acting braver than he felt.
I didn’t leave because I wanted to get away from you.
I left because I thought if I could build something stable, something solid, then maybe I’d deserve the kind of future we talked about.
I don’t know if I’m doing this right.
I just know I love you.
— Ethan
The room felt still again.
Too still.
Her hand drifted instinctively to her stomach.
He didn’t know.
He was writing about a future in theory.
He had no idea it was already growing.
Another small movement pressed against her palm, softer than before but deliberate.
Her throat closed.
“You’re going to be a dad,” she whispered to the empty room.
The weight of that sentence settled heavily in her chest.
Part of her wanted to protect him from it. To wait. To let him finish training without this added pressure.
Another part of her felt the unfairness of that instinct.
She was carrying it alone.
Living it alone.
He deserved to know.
And she deserved not to shoulder it silently.
Lily reached for her desk chair and pulled it close to her bed. She grabbed a fresh sheet of paper from her notebook, smoothing it carefully against the surface.
For a long moment, she just stared at the blank page.
How do you change someone’s life in ink?
Her pen hovered, then finally touched down.
Ethan,
Her hand shook.
She stopped.
Took a breath.
Started again.
Ethan,
I don’t know how to write this in a way that makes it feel less overwhelming, so I’m just going to say it.
She paused, heart racing so fast she felt lightheaded.
Then she wrote the words that would change everything.
You’re going to be a dad.
The room felt like it tilted.
She pressed her free hand against her stomach, grounding herself.
She kept writing.
She told him about the test she took alone in the bathroom. About how long she stared at the two pink lines before they felt real. About the doctor’s appointment. About the first kick.
Her tears dripped onto the page, smudging the ink slightly.
She didn’t beg him to come home.
She didn’t accuse him.
She didn’t soften it either.
She just told him the truth.
By the time she finished, her chest ached from holding so much inside.
She read it once.
Folded it carefully.
Slid it into an envelope.
When she sealed it, her hands were trembling so badly she had to press down twice to make sure it stuck.
Once it was mailed, there would be no taking it back.
No rewriting it.
No protecting either of them from what came next.
She stood and walked to the mirror, catching her reflection.
Her eyes were red. Her hair messy. Her sweatshirt stretched slightly over the curve of her stomach.
She didn’t look like the girl she was a few months ago.
She looked older.
Stronger.
Scared.
But determined.
Another small kick met her palm.
“I told him,” she whispered softly.
She didn’t know how he would react.
Didn’t know if he’d panic.
Didn’t know if he’d feel trapped.
But she knew one thing with certainty:
She was done carrying the truth alone.
And somewhere, weeks from now, Ethan would open that letter.
And his world would shift the way hers already had.
- Writer
