Gloria lit the light of her father's study. She hadn't been in it since before he died, and it was exactly as she remembered. His books were still scattered open on the large table, and his notes where on his desk. She opened the drawer, afraid there was nothing. However, there it was, a white envelope, turned yellowish, with her name on it. She ran her finger through her father's calligraphy, he had such a beautiful handwriting. She opened the envelope with expectation. The paper was the best one he had owned, and the ink was dark blue, his favorite. She started reading.
Dear Gloria,
when you read this I will be already dead. It is a cliché sentence to start a letter, but it will be true. I hope you miss me, because it will mean I have done things right. After all, you only miss the things you love. And I have loved you a lot. You are my only child, my baby, and I am proud of you. Nothing could make me ashamed of you.
However, there is something that makes me feel ashamed of myself, and it is keeping a secret for this long. Your mother was always against telling you, she said it would hurt you too much. So I never told you. I don't want to die and take that secret with me. I need you to know.
You have given me three wonderful grandsons. I can't find the words to describe how much they amaze me. But every time I see them, I also remember my granddaughter, that little baby girl you delivered when you were not even seventeen. I know that, sometimes, you have wondered whether she was actually dead. Maybe hoping she was alive and living a happy life somewhere. But no, your daughter only lived long enough for you to hear her cry, long enough for the doctor to tell her she was a girl.
What your mother never wanted to tell you was that she was terribly malformed. I am not going to describe it, because the sole vision of such an innocent creature so severely disfigured, has haunted my dreams for years. I will tell you, however, that there was nothing the doctors could do. She died peacefully. Because your mother didn't want you to see her, we took her home and buried her under the oak in the garden. She is still there. Sometimes, I go to the tree and caress its trunk, as it were her. I also sit down by it and read her stories. All the stories I would have read her, had she lived. I want you to know that, even though she only lived for a short time, I didn't forget her. I also want you to know that I named her Angela, just like you wanted.
Love,
Dad
When Gloria had finished reading the letter, she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. She looked at the garden and saw the oak, and it felt as if it were her daughter. She was tempted to go outside and kneel in front of it, but she remembered her mother and decided to forgive her and stay with her during her last moments. Yet, it was too late, as she found her resting peacefully, her face an image of calmness.
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