Letter Your Father Novels & Stories

the driver greeted with a smile, his voice familiar. I glanced in, and sure enough, it was one of my father’s men. I didn’t ask questions. I got in, sliding into the backseat. The car was warm, and as the ride began, my thoughts swirled. I was going home, but not to the place I used to call home. I was going back to my family.

"I should. This is. this is something I must face." He ripped off the seal and tore the letter. It was from his father. My Son, Weeks have passed since I saw you last, and there are things that I would say to you—things which might have been said to you years ago. I do apologize for not having it ready so long ago, but I may ask forgiveness for the errors of me. I see you now. I see what you have become, and I must admit the strength and love you've gained from all you've been through. Your mother and I have stood by and watched, and though we have no business asking for your pardon, I do.

My father sat beneath the weight of his crown, eyes tired but unsoftened. “Serena?” Surprise roughened his voice. “Back so soon?” I stepped forward and offered the letter with both hands. “Father,” I said, steady as I could make it. “We need to talk.”

Written by my father. Addressed decades into the future. The detective zoomed in further until the first lines became readable. My pulse quickened immediately. Because the letter wasn't addressed to my mother. It wasn't addressed to Evelyn. And it wasn't addressed to Martha. At the top of the page, written clearly in my father's handwriting, were the words: To my daughters, if you are reading this together, then we finally won.

I said, smiling at him as I took the letter. Shaira curiously approached me to take a look. "Have you used this address for any of your deliveries?" "Not yet. I don’t even know the address here. Who could’ve sent this?" I opened the envelope and took a step back when I saw a familiar logo. I swallowed hard before opening the letter completely. Here’s a sample of what the father might write to the mother to inform her of his intention to file a case and invite her to court: **February 27**

I could be on the other side of the room, strumming it between other useless objects, actually considering enjoying myself instead of resenting the fact that I now have to be awake all day and all night. “Oh,” Sash says quietly. I look at him. Silently, he hands what he’s holding to me. As soon as I see the handwriting, my stomach drops. Father, tight and spiky like every word is its own little weapon. The letter is violently effusive, every i dotted and t crossed so aggressively that he struck through the page in a few places. He thanks King Notu for his presence at Father’s wedding a few months ago and mentions he didn’t know just how beautiful Lightning Cape was until he met Mother.

I couldn't breathe. "What?" "It was covered up. Made to look like an illness. But it wasn't." He pulled something from his pocket a folded piece of paper. "I found this in my father's study a few weeks ago. It's a letter. From your mother. To him." He held it out. I took it. My hands were shaking. I unfolded the paper. The handwriting was familiar. I'd know it anywhere. Elias, I'm afraid. I've found something I shouldn't have. Something about the family. Something about the money. They know. They're coming for me.

The celebration became joyful because everyone was present. "Happy Father's Day, Dad!" I hugged my dad tightly because it had been a month since they visited us. "Same to you, my son. You've grown into a good man and husband. Take care always, and to your family, I'm so proud to be your father." I turned my attention to the piece of paper I was holding; it was handed to me by Lauren earlier. I couldn't help but shed tears as I opened it. Dear Daddy, As I sit down to write this letter, I find myself flooded with emotions that are difficult to express. Yet, I feel compelled to put pen to paper and convey to you the depths of my gratitude and remorse.

I sat on the edge of my bed and looked at the envelope in my hands. Kieran Nightbane. Lunar Dominion Academy. The handwriting was my father's. I would have known it across a dark room. Heavy strokes. Letters that pressed hard into the paper like the hand holding the pen were accustomed to making things comply. I opened it. It was not long. My father was not a man who used ten words when five would do, and he was not writing this letter to connect. He was writing it to direct.

(Alessio's POV) My eyes scanned every word of the letter Lisa's father had written. Each line was filled with longing and desperation, describing how much he missed his daughter and wished for her return. It was heartfelt and raw, written with the emotions of a father who would move heaven and earth for his child.