Departures

When he left, their home would be empty.
 
He didn’t know if he would return. He didn’t know if anyone would return. For the third—and possibly final—time, someone would walk out that door with no plan to come back. With his preparations complete, Hope sat at the table where he had eaten so many meals and re-read the letter that had been left for him two seasons ago.
 
My son,
 
I love you, and I am sorry. I am sorry that I could not protect you as a child. I am sorry that I could not bring myself to say all of this to you directly. I am especially sorry that I can not tell you when—or if—I shall return.
 
I must go, though. You are strong enough to stand on your own. You are stronger than me, I suspect. After all, if I were a stronger person, I could be direct with you about why I am leaving. If I were even stronger still, I could stay. You have only ever known me in the time after your mother left, but I know the others say that I am different now—quieter. Melancholic. They are correct in this. I loved your mother dearly, as I love you dearly, and I am haunted by the feeling that I have failed her.
 
In attempting to atone for failing her, I may now be failing you. I hope you will be strong enough to forgive me. I will understand if you do not. If your mother still lives, still exists, I suspect she will be involved in the late events of Slibro. I implore you to wait for as long as you are able, to give me time to put right what I once made wrong. If you feel so moved, if you can no longer bear inaction, then I will also understand if you choose to follow in my footsteps.

 
His father had signed his name—his full name—beneath the complimentary closing “With Love.”
 
“The late events of Slibro” had become a phrase of portents. Rumors of what had transpired there were abundant, but the truth was evasive—even for someone as well-traveled as Hope. He did not doubt his father’s love, either for himself or his absent mother. Her decision to leave their family, his father’s eventual decision to seek her out, and Hope’s decision to make his way into the world… He firmly believed that these were all decisions of love.
 
No, his only doubt was that he would find either of them alive. Still, he had to seek that evasive truth, whether it brought joy or sorrow. The unanswered questions left a wound within him, and—for perhaps the first time—he felt as if he understood his father.
 
Was it all fate? Were they preordained to chase after one another’s shadows? If so, was that cycle unbreakable?
 
Hope took one long look around the room of his youth. This is it, he realized. I am truly my own person now. He carefully folded the letter and returned it to a secure place in the many folds of his tunic. He took up his pack, brushed his night-dark hair away from his moon-bright face. He forced a smile—greet everyone with a smile, he had learned at a young age—and walked out of his family home without looking back.