“But did he know you were happy?”

I looked out the window at the bare trees, the pale winter light, and a neighbor struggling cheerfully to coax a dog down the sidewalk.

“I hope so,” I said.

“I wish I could have told him.”

“Maybe write it,” June suggested.

“You’re good at letters now.”

So I took out a sheet of paper and began.

Dear Walter, I wrote, I have a good life.