I recently moved into my late mother’s house and noticed my mail wasn’t arriving. After installing a surveillance camera, I saw my neighbor, Mr. Thompson, stealing it. The next morning, I caught him in the act, and soon after, he vanished. The letter I received revealed part of the mystery.
After my mother’s death, I moved into her house, a quaint place with a lovely garden. The house felt empty without her. Days turned into weeks with no mail. I set up a small surveillance camera near the mailbox, feeling like a detective from one of my mother’s mystery novels.
The next day, I reviewed the footage and saw Mr. Thompson taking my mail. He was a tall, grumpy man who kept to himself. I confronted him, and he denied it, suggesting it was a mistake with the camera. His house looked barely lived in, with scattered boxes and empty walls.
Determined to catch him red-handed, I woke up early and saw Mr. Thompson heading to the mailbox. When he saw me, he hurried back inside, slamming the door. I found a letter addressed to my mother in the mailbox—one from my estranged father, Jack.
The letter read: “Dearest Clara, I’ve sent hundreds of letters. Please tell our daughter, Diana, about me. I am sorry, Jack.”
Confused and intrigued, I confronted Mr. Thompson again. His house was now even emptier, as if he had left in a hurry. I found a photo of a woman and two children, and an address I didn’t recognize. I drove to the address, a modest house with children playing in the yard.
A woman who resembled me answered the door. “I’m Diana,” I said. “I’m looking for Mr. Thompson.”
“He’s my father,” she replied. “I’m Emily. Why are you looking for him?”
Mr. Thompson appeared, shocked to see me. “Diana,” he whispered. “Emily, Diana is your sister.”
Emily and I were stunned. Mr. Thompson, or Jack, explained that I was his daughter from a previous relationship. He had set up an automated mailing system to send letters to my mother out of guilt. After her death, he rented the house next door to keep an eye on me.
Emily was upset but determined. “This is a lot to take in, but we can figure this out together.”
Jack’s face softened with relief. “I want to be part of your life if you’ll let me.”
As we gathered around the grill, meeting Emily’s children and sharing stories, I felt a sense of belonging I hadn’t experienced in years. Jack and Emily were willing to bridge the gap of lost time, and I was ready to see where this new chapter would lead.
