Natalie had to stop after that one. She went and stood at the sliding door and looked at the backyard for a while. Then she came back and kept reading.
The last letter was short. It had no photograph in it.
Dear Natalie,
The agency tells me you have not picked up any of my letters, and that they cannot forward them to you because you have moved and left no address. They have asked me, very politely, to stop. I think they're right. I don't want this to become something that hurts you, if it's hurting you. So this will be the last one I send here.
But I want you to know where to find her if you ever look. Every year on her birthday I take Claire to Calvin Mercer's studio on Second Avenue, where we had the first picture taken, and he takes her portrait. He keeps them all in the same file as ours. If you ever want to see her, you don't have to call me. You don't have to call anybody. You can just walk in and ask him. He'll show you. He knows.
I hope you are well. I hope you have found somebody kind. I hope you know that there is a girl in this house who will always have two mothers, whether she ever meets one of them or not, and that I have never once let her think you didn't love her.