A total of thirteen years have passed since the last time I saw my daughter. Still a kid, but with that edge of adolescent independence that made her seem older than she really was, she was thirteen years old at the time. She was full of energy and strong ideas when she was still a child.

During that day, when she slid into the back seat of her mother’s vehicle, I had no clue that it would be the last time I would see her for more than a decade. I was completely unaware of this fact. Yesterday, I was given a letter that was written to “Grandpa Mark,” and for a considerable amount of time, I simply stood in the hallway of my apartment, marveling at the childlike handwriting.

It became icy in my palms. It never occurred to me that I was a grandpa. At least, I had never been informed that I was by anybody.

Even though my fingers were trembling, I opened the packet. Although the pencil lines were thin in some places and dark in others, the paper that was inside was wrinkled, giving the impression that the writer had pushed down more forcefully when he was enthusiastic or uncertain. The first words caused me to take a deep breath.

This is Grandpa! This is my name, Noah. 6 years old is my age.

I have no other family members remaining but you…

In the time that it took me to even move, I read it twice. Although some of the phrases were clearly produced with the assistance of an adult, the majority of them were written in a child’s wobbly hand. In his explanation, he said that his mother, who is my daughter Lily, had once informed him about me, and that he was now living in a shelter in St.

Louis. The last sentence of the letter was a request that struck a chord deep inside me:

I beg you to come and fetch me. The day when Lily was taken away from me was something that I could not help but think about.

After completing yet another lengthy shift as a construction foreman, I had just returned home after a hot day in Chicago during the month of July. I wanted nothing more than to take a shower and drink a cool beer. My shirt was dripping with perspiration, and my boots felt like they weighed a hundred pounds.

Both of these things were true. By the time I entered the kitchen, my wife, Denise, was already seated at the table. Not only did she not seem offended or irritated, but she appeared serene.

Way too peaceful. While she was standing with her back straight and her eyes fixed on me, she had her hands folded in front of her. With a tone that seemed like it had been practiced, she addressed him and stated, “Mark, this isn’t working anymore.”

There was a frown on my face.

It is unclear what you are referring about. Her voice was soft as she let out a sigh, as if the whole situation was too exhausting to describe. “I am taking off.

I have fallen in love with Tom. It is Lily who will accompany me. She needs a life that is superior than this one.

That remark, “a better life,” continues to reverberate in my chest now. For the sake of providing for them, I worked myself to the bone. Despite the fact that it was not fancy, our house was secure, cozy, and brimming with love.

Not only did we have enough food to eat, but we also had a roof over our heads and a kid who often giggled rather than crying. Denise, on the other hand, had always desired more—more money, more attention, and something more sparkling. When I worked for the firm, Tom was my boss and the owner of the business.

He attended construction meetings dressed in fitted clothes, drove a new high-end automobile each year, and had extravagant parties at his vast suburban house. He was a highly successful businessman. It was a universe in which Denise flourished.

As a result, I never felt like I belonged there, but she was a perfect match. I should have been able to anticipate it. My argument was with her.

My advice to her was that she was making a mistake. At the very least, I asked mom to let Lily remain with me this time. It made no difference at all.

During that week, she gathered their belongings and drove away, my daughter looking at me through the window of the vehicle as if she was unsure whether or not to wave. My last encounter with her occurred at that point. First, I made an effort to remain a part of her life.

I phoned you. I penned mail as well. I sent Christmas presents and birthday cards to the recipient.

Over the course of time, she would sometimes respond, but her comments gradually became less and less frequent until they eventually ceased entirely. There is no question in my mind that Denise poisoned her against me. Maybe she lied to her, or maybe she just let her feelings of anger to fester.

No matter what happened, my own kid began to see me as an unfamiliar person. My life was at its lowest point throughout the years that occurred after it. I sank into a profound state of despair.

My health deteriorated to the point that I was admitted to the hospital on many occasions. Due to the very high cost of medical care, I was forced to sell our home. We both knew that it would be simpler for him if I was gone, but Tom dismissed me not long after that.

He said that it was because I had missed too much work, but we both knew that it was simply easier for him. When I was in that situation, I told myself that the loss of that job was a blessing, but at the time, it didn’t seem like a gift. I had no idea that Denise and Lily had relocated to a different state; I had entirely lost sight of them.

Never once did I remarry. The faith I had placed in other people had been destroyed, and my heart had no desire in beginning again. In its place, I concentrated on gradually reestablishing my life.

Initially, I established a little construction company. While it wasn’t much, it was enough to keep me afloat. When I reached fifty, I was living in a good apartment and had saved enough money that I didn’t have to worry about paying my expenses.

I never had to worry about finances. However, the feeling of isolation never completely away. I continued to think about Lily practically every day, wondering whether she was content and if she ever considered me.

I was curious about her happiness. On the other hand, when I opened my mailbox the day before yesterday, I discovered the letter that completely flipped my life upside down. When I was asked to come and receive my grandson from a shelter located hundreds of miles away, I was surprised since I had no idea that he existed.

No hesitation on my part. The earliest flight to St. Louis that I could locate was the one that I booked.

That night, it was tough to go to sleep. My thoughts kept going back and forth to the same things. To what extent has Lily’s life progressed?

How had she come to be in the position of having a little kid in a shelter? Did she seem to be okay? I kept imagining Noah, his little hands clenching a pencil as he penned the letter, and his unsure hope that I would come for him.

These were the things that I kept thinking about the most. In the morning of the next day, I arrived to the Santa Maria Children’s Home by taking a taxi directly from the airport. It was an older building made of red bricks with white trim that was flaking off, the type of structure that had most likely been a school many years ago.

A little playground was located in front of the building, and it was deserted in the chilly morning air. Along one wall, there was a mural that depicted cheerful people and vivid floral painting. A lady in her thirties welcomed me as I entered the building.

Both her eyes and her handshake were warm and kind. “It is clear that you are Mr. Bennett,” she said.

I’m Ms. Reynolds, and I’m the director of this place. We proceeded to her office, where she informed me of the events that had transpired.

Following Denise’s disappearance of Lily, it would seem that life had not unfolded in the manner that my daughter would have anticipated. The pregnancy occurred when she was nineteen years old. Being true to her nature, Denise expelled her from the house, stating that she had “embarrassed the family.” As Lily attempted to raise Noah on her own, she worked a variety of occupations, including waitressing, cleaning homes, and stocking stores, among other career opportunities.

She traveled around quite a bit in the hopes of finding better chances and a cheaper rent, but she never seemed to be able to find work. It had been almost a year since she had first met Victor, a rich guy. Assuring her of his love, comfort, and security, he made the pledge.

Nevertheless, he had no desire to bring up the kid of another guy. Almost immediately after that, Lily took Noah to the shelter, where she informed the workers that she want for him to have a better life than she could provide for him. She abandoned him there and did not return at any point.

According to Ms. Reynolds, Noah was a bright and inquisitive little kid. During the course of one day, he happened to overhear staff members discussing relatives, and he recalled that his mother had mentioned a grandpa named Mark at one point.

When he went through some of Lily’s old items that the shelter had saved, he discovered a notebook in which she had written down my complete name many years ago. He was able to find this notebook with the assistance of many volunteers. In this manner, the letter began to take shape.

It was immediately apparent to me that he was there when Ms. Reynolds escorted me to the common area. The toy truck he was holding in his hand was a toy truck, and he was sitting on the floor and making gentle engine sounds to himself.

When he glanced up, I noticed the same brilliant blue eyes that his mother had when she was a youngster. His hair was a brown that was disheveled, and he had brown eyes. He took his time standing there, staring at me with a gaze that was equal parts wonder and caution.

In a low voice, he greeted me. I said, “Hello, Noah,” while crouching down to bring us at eye level. The sound of my voice was shaky.