جميع فصول : الفصل

December had brought the first snow to Manhattan once again.Flakes drifted over Central Park, dusting it in a thin layer of white.In the warm, spacious living room of my new apartment, I was trying to hook the star-shaped tree topper onto the top of a two-meter Nordmann fir.The fireplace crackled with burning logs. The air smelled of mulled wine and pine needles.A few holiday cards sat on the coffee table.In the kitchen, Sophia had tied on an apron and was prepping tonight's roast turkey feast. Upbeat jazz played through the speakers.On the entryway console sat a manila envelope with no return address.Security had brought it up that morning. The postmark was from a community post office in Brooklyn. The recipient: Chloe Carter.It was my father Richard's handwriting.I carried my freshly poured mulled wine to the desk and carefully slit the seal with a letter opener.Inside was a long letter, four pages thick. The paper was rough and yellowed, with dried tear stains along the ed