I put the letter down.
My grandfather hadn’t abandoned me.
He’d chosen not to disrupt my life.
And my mother had carried that secret until the day she died.
⸻
“Is he still alive?” I asked.
Martin’s expression softened.
“Yes.”
My heart started pounding.
“Where?”
“About forty minutes from here.”
I stared at him.
“Forty minutes?”
“He’s eighty-four now. He lives in Hendersonville.”
I stood up so quickly my chair scraped against the floor.
“All these years?”
Martin nodded.
“He’s lived there most of his life.”
“Does he know about Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know I’m here?”
Martin paused.
“Eleanor contacted him several months ago.”
I looked down at the letter.
“She knew where he was?”
“She did.”
“Then why didn’t she tell me?”
“Because she wanted you to decide whether to meet him.”
I sat down again.
For several minutes, I couldn’t speak.
Then I asked the question that had been bothering me since the funeral.
“Why did Eleanor ask me to marry her?”
Martin looked surprised.
“She told you why.”
“Because she’d never been a bride?”
“Yes.”
“But she knew who I was.”
“She did.”
“Was the wedding part of some plan?”
Martin shook his head.
“No, Nate. The wedding was your idea.”
I thought back.
He was right.
Eleanor had told me about her regret.
But she’d never asked me to marry her.
I’d suggested the ceremony.
I’d arranged the dress.
I’d found the chaplain.
She had simply accepted.
Martin leaned forward.
“Eleanor recognized you when you started volunteering. She wanted to tell you about Patricia and your grandfather, but she was afraid of hurting you.”
“Then why leave everything until after she died?”
“Because she was running out of time, and she didn’t want your kindness to become something you regretted.”
