The next morning, Eric awoke to the sound of rain tapping against his apartment window. The world outside seemed gray and lifeless, reflecting the turmoil within him. The letter he had mailed brought a fleeting sense of purpose, but as the rain continued, doubt began to creep in.
What if they don't reply? What if they do and reject me?
He shook off the thoughts and turned his attention to his cluttered apartment. Cleaning had always been something he avoided, but now, it felt like a metaphor for his life—starting with clearing away the mess.
As he worked, he unearthed an old shoebox filled with mementos from David's childhood: a baseball cap, a crumpled drawing of a stick-figure family, and a ticket stub from their last father-son outing. It was a bittersweet discovery, the reminder of what he had lost striking him like a blow.
While Eric was lost in his memories, a knock at the door startled him. Opening it, he found Clara Mitchell, the young lawyer and social worker who had been helping him navigate his legal troubles.
Clara stepped in, shaking off her umbrella. "Eric, I stopped by to check on you. You missed our last meeting."
Eric gestured toward the small kitchen table, now cleared of papers. "I've been... busy," he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
Clara studied him for a moment before sitting down. "I know things are hard right now, but you can't afford to isolate yourself. Progress doesn't happen in silence."
Eric hesitated, then handed her David's report card and the malicious letter he had received. Clara's face darkened as she read the letter.
"This is cruel," she said, her voice tinged with anger. "You don't deserve this."
"Don't I?" Eric countered, his voice breaking. "I caused someone's death, Clara. My son hates me. My wife left me. Maybe this letter is just... the truth."
Clara leaned forward, her eyes fierce. "No, Eric. The truth is you made a mistake—a terrible one. But you're trying to make amends. That's what matters. Don't let someone's bitterness define your path."
Clara's words stirred something in Eric. Later that day, as he stared at David's report card, an idea formed. He couldn't fix his son's grades overnight, but perhaps he could at least start a conversation.
He went out and bought a math workbook—one he remembered David had struggled with years ago. Returning home, he wrote a short note on a sticky pad:
"I know I haven't been there for you, but I want to help. If you ever need it, I'm here."
He slipped the note and the workbook into an envelope, addressing it to David. Walking to Helen's house, he hesitated before sliding it into the mailbox.
As he turned to leave, the sound of laughter stopped him in his tracks. He glanced toward the house and saw David in the yard, tossing a football with a neighbor. For a moment, Eric considered approaching him.
But then he saw the way David's expression hardened when their eyes met. The boy dropped the ball, turned, and walked inside without a word.
The rejection stung, but Eric forced himself to stay rooted. "One step at a time," he whispered.
Later that evening, Helen called.
"What are you trying to do, Eric?" she demanded, her tone sharp. "You can't just drop things in the mailbox and expect everything to change."
"I just wanted him to know I'm here," Eric replied softly.
Helen sighed, the edge in her voice softening. "He's hurt, Eric. And angry. He's not going to let you back in easily. You need to show him you're serious—consistently."
"I know," Eric said. "I'm trying."
"Well, try harder," she said before hanging up.
Eric sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the workbook he had bought. He felt the walls of his apartment closing in, but amidst the doubt, Clara's words echoed in his mind: "Progress doesn't happen in silence."
Determined, Eric resolved to keep pushing forward, no matter how long it took.
This chapter closes with Eric opening his laptop, researching ways to reconnect with estranged teenagers—a small but vital step in his journey of redemption.