For 18 years, my son received a mysterious envelope every birthday—when he finally opened the last one, he discovered who had been sending them all along

truth.

“Me too.”

So that is the story behind the envelopes. For twelve years, I believed an anonymous person was reaching into my son’s life. I wondered if it was guilt. Regret. Some shadow from the past trying to purchase sentiment a few dollars at a time.

I was wrong.

It was love. Patient love. Disciplined love. Quiet love. The kind that does not need continue reading …