“NO, THAT’S OUR ROOM YOUNG LADY! YOU’RE JUST LIVING HERE!” My mum’s screams followed me up the stairs.

“WELL IF I HAD ANY CHOICE I WOULD BE GONE BY NOW!” I yelled back before swinging at the door, the slam echoing around my room.

Barely 10 am on my 18th birthday and we’re already arguing over something as irrelevant as the fact we hadn’t got any orange juice. It’s not my fault neither of us picked any up at the store. I know we are as stubborn as each other but you’d think she could give in just once? Especially as her only daughter is finally 18…
The fact my birthday fell in the middle of summer used to mean I could spend the day doing whatever I wanted, but today I think I would rather have had school. Well, I guess not anymore, I’ll be off traveling and then to uni the next September.

“Cress?” I barely managed to make out the low voice from behind the door. It was my mum’s boyfriend, George. I murmured back, signaling it was okay for him to come in.

“Here hon, these came in the post earlier” he said, placing a pile of envelopes at the edge of my bed. “You know your mum doesn’t mean it, don’t you? She was so excited for today” he tried sweetly.
I managed a half-smile back for him, he meant well and always tried to get mum and me back on the same page, but the arguments were becoming more frequent and the aftermath lasted for longer.
Mustering a small thanks, I waited patiently for him to leave, quietly shutting the door behind him – guess that means he didn’t tell mum he was coming up – before grabbing the pile of greeting cards as quickly as I could.
I didn’t know if he knew what I was waiting for – hell, I didn’t even know if mum did – but I didn’t want him to know how much I looked foreword to this one thing every year. I liked the idea of nobody else knowing, like it was our little secret. The one thing we could share, that was only ours. Any gifts sent to the house were collected together, meaning that mum knew how he sent me a present and a cheesy ‘daughter’ card every year.

The letters though, they were separate.

Flicking through the various family members cards I found what I desired: a pale blue envelope with my address written spindly across the front. As much as I felt the need to rip it open to know the fatherly words I received only once a year, I managed to refrain.

Slowly sliding my nail under the lose flap on the top left corner, I began to break the seal, managing to make a gap just big enough for my little finger to fit through and then calmly lifting the rest of the envelope. I had to savor the moment.

I begun to well up from just the sight of my name.

---

Cressida-Rae,

I cannot believe my baby girl is eighteen! I know that I say this every year, that there isn’t a day that goes by when you don’t cross my mind… but this year has been the hardest yet. I’m only now managing to admit to myself that I will – and the day you are reading this, I have – missed the entirety of your childhood.

There is so much that I need to ask you, like what’s happened to the baby girl who’s photo I carry around in my wallet? I have one in nearly every room of my house. Are you happy? Are you healthy? Are you following your dreams? I hope more than anything you are. A lot can change in 18 years. I don’t even know that you read these, do you tell anyone about them? I don’t, I couldn’t bare to share our only secret. I’m babbaling. There is so much I need to say. The whole world can change in a year, you know? I spend the whole of mine planning on what to tell you, moments I feel you’d enjoy hearing about. Well. I hope that you would, I guess I wouldn’t know…

You have a baby brother. That’s kind of overwritten anything else. He was born today. I’m writing this early. He just makes me think of you. All the moments we can share which me and you never got a shot at. His names’ Eric, after your granddad. There is too much that I have missed out with you, every kiss I plant on his rosy cheek, each time his tiny warm hands touch mine. I think of you.

I wonder if maybe I’ve ever seen you, maybe in the streets. Of even if you’ve seen me. I try to always be seen smiling, just by chance you’re there and unknowingly smile back. Do you still have my eyes? Or have they changed to be more like your mothers? I bet you look like her, completely and utterly beautiful. I keep getting teased at work because I try to parent all the young people I work with – some of them even started calling me uncle Si. I never knew why till I held your brother.

I think its because when you make a child out of love, they take a part of you… and that missing part is replaced with some kind of protecting, loving instinct which I never got to give to you… but then your mother and I felt like this was how best to protect you. I hope you don’t hate me for the choice we made.

I love you, Chrissy.
Dad.

p.s. I will try to understand if you chose not to see this my darling, but if you ever need me. Write, please. 2071, Ilchester Place, Holland Park, London.

---

The tears stopped. Did I really read that right? I finally had a way to reply to him? He had never given me one before. My heard missed a couple of beats, but then I felt it’s amplified pounding, hearing the rhythm echo around my room. Trying to process what I had just read but failing to, I took three deep breathes and begun to read again.

A brother, and a chance to talk to him.
I can't have read that? Right?

Notes

This is my first story so I'm sorry if there's anything wrong..


Any pointers are welcome. :).

Love.