Page 117 of Nineteen Letters

“It’s sad how life’s circumstances can change.”

“It is. As long as you don’t lose hope, I believe anything is possible.”

“It’s been wonderful having you here,” she says, placing her hand on my leg. “When you first had your accident, I thought I’d lose you, just like I’d lost everyone else—my parents, my husband. I don’t think I could have gone on if that happened. But I should never have underestimated you. You were always so strong. You fought hard to not only live again, but to find some kind of normality. I’m so proud of you for not giving up.”

“There were times I wanted to do that,” I admit.

“But you didn’t. Witnessing your strength has helped me in ways I could never have even imagined.”

A lump rises to my throat and, without even thinking, the words just fall from my mouth. “I love you, Mum.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says as tears fill her eyes. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get to hear those words again. I love you too.”

I sit there for the longest time, just enjoying being near her.

“Do you want a cuppa?” I ask eventually.

“I’d love one. Oh, I almost forgot, a letter came for you earlier.”

She points to the envelope sitting on the coffee table, and I snatch it up on my way to the kitchen.

Letter fourteen…

Dearest Jemma,

The thirteenth of January 2007. It’s hard for me to forget this day, I was so nervous. It was the day I had to ask your father if I could take his little girl away for the weekend.

I’d been saving hard, and I just needed your parents’ blessing so I could book the flights.

It was a Saturday, you were at work, but both your parents were home. My stomach churned as I walked across your front lawn.

“Braxton,” your mum said with surprise when she opened the front door.

“I was wondering if you and Mr Robinson had a few minutes. There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

“Of course, sweetheart, come in.” I followed her into the lounge room. “Stephen’s out the back. I’ll get him.”

“Thank you.” I rubbed my hands together nervously as I sat on the sofa.

“Are you okay?” she asked, frowning.

“Yes,” I lied.

A few minutes later, she came back into the room, your dad by her side. I stood and shook his hand before we all sat. They were on the sofa opposite me, and I was grateful for the distance.

“Christine said you want to talk to us about something,” he said, opening up the lines of communication.

“Yes … I umm … want to take Jemma away next weekend.”

“Just the two of you?”

“Yes. I’ve been saving for the past few months. I’d like to surprise her and take her to Queensland.”

“Will you be staying in the same room?”

“Yes,” I replied, swallowing hard. I wasn’t going to lie to him.

“Not happening,” your father said abruptly as he stood. “She’s only seventeen and too young to go away … alone … with you.”