our baby boy, who’s now as old as Gareth was when Vilma died. He’s a quiet, sensitive little eight-year-old who was only one when we lost Vilma. He probably won’t even have a single memory of her, and that kills me. He deserves to remember her. He deserves a life with a mother.
And our eldest, Gareth, the surprise Vilma and I didn’t expect but welcomed with open arms. He was our first and started our family. He grew our love exponentially. He was eight when Vilma died, and he’s now turned into an angry teenager who resents me for how I treated his mum before she died. He looks at me with so much hatred that I fear he’ll just run away one day.
And he’s right to resent me. I resent myself. I hate that I’ve abandoned this family that I created with the love of my life. Things need to change.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the letter that Vilma wrote to me. The letter that I’ve not touched in the seven years she’s been gone. Honestly, I haven’t wanted to read it. I don’t want to read her last words to me because then she truly will be gone.
But today I received a job offer to manage Bethnal Green Football Club. And as much as I’ve not missed the world of football since I left it after Vilma got sick, I find myself wavering on my answer.
Maybe this letter will be like getting help from my wife—hearing her voice again. Maybe this letter can give me the answers I so desperately need. Or maybe this letter will mean certain death…
I unfold the worn paper, and my eyes well at the sight of Vilma’s handwriting. I run my fingers over the letters, feeling the warmth of her through the paper. She touched this paper. She poured out her heart on this paper. This…is my wife.
I lift it to my face and blink away the tears to read.
My Dearest Vaughn,
The night I met you, you told me about losing your parents. You told me that you were over that pain. And what did I tell you? That grief has no timeline and no expiration date. It lives forever.
I hate that I said those words to you, my love, because I do not want this pain to live forever in you. I want you to find joy again. Happiness. Love. I want you to have more children with that super sperm that gave me my five beautiful little ones. The world needs more Harrises, my love. And our Harrises need you. Our children need their father.
Please be gentle with Gareth. He is a strong, stoic little boy who has not left my bedside since I became sick. He acts tough, but he has a pain inside of him that I believe only a father can help mend.
And don’t let Vi waste her whole life taking care of her brothers. She is a giver, but she needs to be selfish from time to time. The boys will make it hard for her to find love, but you must instill some boundaries, or they will truly occupy her whole life.
Funnily enough, I do not worry about the twins. Tanner and Camden are cheeky little sods who will get everything they want in life and probably more than they should have. It will take strong, intelligent women to tame them, and for that, I am grateful because that means they’ll have a piece of me with them as they grow old. You recall that it was my challenging strength and endurance you loved most about me?
My baby Booker. My sweet, precious boy that I can still feel the warmth and weight of against my breast. Watch him closely, Vaughn. I did not get enough time with him, and I fear he will struggle quietly because of this. He will look up to his brothers and you…be there for him, please.
I do not know how much time will have passed before you open this letter, but I know that despite your pain and despite your grief, you need to hold onto your passion. Teach our children passion, Vaughn.
Teach them football.
You always said you fell in love with me at the pub. Well, I fell in love with you on the pitch. Watching you play with such passion was the single most inspiring moment of my life. Let our children experience that love. Let football heal our family.