Chicago for keeping a level head. She didn’t overreact in court or out of it. And yet she’d handled things badly today. She was terrible at relationships, but the truth was, she preferred not to get involved with Tori’s ex-husband. Wondering what else she should have said or done, she strode to the table and picked up the yellowed paper Shane had left there.
It was a letter addressed to Sergeant Karl Peterson, c/o U.S. Army General Post. The outside was stamped in several places, the last of which was in French. It was from Anna.
After all this time, Caroline held in her hand a piece of her history, and something both Anna and Karl had touched. Carefully unfolding the old stationery, she sat in the straight-backed chair at the table and began to read.
December 30, 1943
Dear Karl,
So many times I’ve tried to write this letter, only to stop, unable to bring myself to put the difficult words on paper. I wish there was a gentle way to tell you what I’m about to tell you, but there is none. It’s not fair. None of it’s fair. Not this war. Not what I must do. Nor is it fair for me to be thinking of you, not now, not anymore.
Henry and I were married on December 11. He wanted to tell you, but it’s my place to do so. He loves me. I don’t know why, but he does. I don’t know what I would have done without him these past months. I’m trying to do what’s best, and still, I don’t know how to stop loving you. I must try, for it’s not fair to him or to you.
I haven’t heard from you since you came home on leave. For three months I tried frantically to reach you. The army won’t tell me where you are. I pray you’re safe. I know I shouldn’t pray that one day you’ll forgive Henry and me, and yet I do. I pray for that most of all. I’m so sorry, Karl. Such inadequate words for the sorrow in my heart. I grieve for the love you and I shared, and I can’t help imagining how you will feel when you read this letter. Please believe mewhen I say I had no other choice. Now I must look forward, not back, and so must you. I beg you, be safe. And please be happy one day.
Anna
Caroline must have read the letter twenty times. In fact, she spent the next two hours doing nothing but reading it, thinking about it, and studying the photograph she’d discovered in her grandfather’s attic two months ago. She could imagine each of them as they’d been then: One girl loved by two men, a war, a different era, an impossible situation, and three lives changed forever. In reality, it wasn’t only three lives that had been changed. Caroline’s life had been affected, too. And now, it would affect her child.
Life was never simple. She used to believe it was, but she’d been wrong. It felt as if her life had been divided into three parts. There was the whimsical first eight years when her parents had been alive, her focused and goal-oriented existence in Chicago, and this new, uncertain, learn-as-she-was-going entity she was experiencing now.
Putting the letter and photograph aside, she asked herself what was important. The answer was crystal clear. Her baby. She’d known it since that wand had turned blue. The emotion, the sentiment, the sheer power of her love was something she’d never felt before. The fact that she’dfailed the Life Skills night from hell was immaterial. She was going to do everything in her power to be a good mother.
Voices carried from the channel. Following those sounds to the open window, she saw a large boat floating by on the channel. In the back, a man and woman sat on either side of three little girls. One of the children pointed at something. Whatever she said must have been funny, because they all laughed. As the boat lumbered out of sight, Caroline thought about families.
She was an excellent lawyer. She would learn to be a good mother. But her relationship skills left a lot to be desired. She needed to keep trying, because the riches in life weren’t measured by cases won. It
It was a letter addressed to Sergeant Karl Peterson, c/o U.S. Army General Post. The outside was stamped in several places, the last of which was in French. It was from Anna.
After all this time, Caroline held in her hand a piece of her history, and something both Anna and Karl had touched. Carefully unfolding the old stationery, she sat in the straight-backed chair at the table and began to read.
December 30, 1943
Dear Karl,
So many times I’ve tried to write this letter, only to stop, unable to bring myself to put the difficult words on paper. I wish there was a gentle way to tell you what I’m about to tell you, but there is none. It’s not fair. None of it’s fair. Not this war. Not what I must do. Nor is it fair for me to be thinking of you, not now, not anymore.
Henry and I were married on December 11. He wanted to tell you, but it’s my place to do so. He loves me. I don’t know why, but he does. I don’t know what I would have done without him these past months. I’m trying to do what’s best, and still, I don’t know how to stop loving you. I must try, for it’s not fair to him or to you.
I haven’t heard from you since you came home on leave. For three months I tried frantically to reach you. The army won’t tell me where you are. I pray you’re safe. I know I shouldn’t pray that one day you’ll forgive Henry and me, and yet I do. I pray for that most of all. I’m so sorry, Karl. Such inadequate words for the sorrow in my heart. I grieve for the love you and I shared, and I can’t help imagining how you will feel when you read this letter. Please believe mewhen I say I had no other choice. Now I must look forward, not back, and so must you. I beg you, be safe. And please be happy one day.
Anna
Caroline must have read the letter twenty times. In fact, she spent the next two hours doing nothing but reading it, thinking about it, and studying the photograph she’d discovered in her grandfather’s attic two months ago. She could imagine each of them as they’d been then: One girl loved by two men, a war, a different era, an impossible situation, and three lives changed forever. In reality, it wasn’t only three lives that had been changed. Caroline’s life had been affected, too. And now, it would affect her child.
Life was never simple. She used to believe it was, but she’d been wrong. It felt as if her life had been divided into three parts. There was the whimsical first eight years when her parents had been alive, her focused and goal-oriented existence in Chicago, and this new, uncertain, learn-as-she-was-going entity she was experiencing now.
Putting the letter and photograph aside, she asked herself what was important. The answer was crystal clear. Her baby. She’d known it since that wand had turned blue. The emotion, the sentiment, the sheer power of her love was something she’d never felt before. The fact that she’dfailed the Life Skills night from hell was immaterial. She was going to do everything in her power to be a good mother.
Voices carried from the channel. Following those sounds to the open window, she saw a large boat floating by on the channel. In the back, a man and woman sat on either side of three little girls. One of the children pointed at something. Whatever she said must have been funny, because they all laughed. As the boat lumbered out of sight, Caroline thought about families.
She was an excellent lawyer. She would learn to be a good mother. But her relationship skills left a lot to be desired. She needed to keep trying, because the riches in life weren’t measured by cases won. It
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