Hope is a Four Letter Word

He had not been expecting a letter. There had been none since he arrived, except from his ex-wife's lawyer finalizing their divorce. Life was lonely and had settled into predictability that only repetition can provide. Then, one day a letter came. Luke sat on his bed and turned it over and over again in his hands. He ran his fingers gingerly over the writing. It was a woman's writing, with all its wide loops and smooth, unbroken cursive. He opened it carefully, as if it might disintegrate. He unfolded the tightly creased sheet to find only a sentence:

I believe you.

With trembling hands, Luke carefully folded the letter back into its envelope and tucked it under his mattress. He could feel his heart begin to pound, and sweat begin to form in beads above his lip. No one had said those words to him before. Those three words continued to echo through his mind: I believe you, I believe you, I believe you They played in his head like a skipping record, until he fell into a troubled sleep.

Every day during quiet moments, Luke took the letter from under his mattress and read it again. I believe you. His emotions varied as he considered the possibility that it was a cruel practical joke. Other times, he found comfort in this stranger's belief. He would occasionally allow himself the indulgence of hope, absent for so many years. A life without hope soon makes man a shell of his former self. The letter ignited a spark from a fire in Luke that had long since burned out. The part of him that died the day he came to live here.

The next letter came exactly forty three days later and when it arrived, Luke thought he would lose composure. Again, he sat on his bed and stared at the letter, tracing the elegant twists and turns of the letters with his fingers. Gingerly, he slowly pulled out the paper. His heart pounded in his as he read:

I am sorry, so very sorry. I hope someday you will forgive me.

This letter left Luke feeling ill. He curled up in bed and fought the urge to vomit. Who could be writing to him after so long? How could someone so carelessly manipulate the emotions of a broken man? Someone had used the same words Luke had written to his wife over 15 years ago when they separated. The words she had so coldly used against him in her grief. Luke didn't sleep for the rest of the night. Between the letters and the tornado of emotions they caused and what he was facing tomorrow, it was all he could do to keep his sanity about him.

Tomorrow came without a wink of sleep. Luke tried to appear professional, but there is only so much a man can do without access to proper clothing or bathroom facilities. He sat before the parole board looking appropriately contrite. As they looked over his file from the last 15 years and remarked among themselves, Luke felt inside his pocket to touch the first letter. I believe you. The hearing was a blur. After an excruciating period of questions, remarks, reading letters from his counselor, the board made their decision. After what seemed but a blur of years all culminating to this one moment, they decided Luke was rehabilitated enough to re-enter society. He thought this moment would bring about overwhelming joy, but to his surprise, Luke didn't feel much differently.

You can let a man out of jail, but that doesn't make him free.

It was raining when Luke stepped from the prison gates. He sighed heavily. He could go anywhere now. Then, something caught his eye. A young woman standing alone. Their eyes met simultaneously and a spark of familiarity rose in Luke. He walked toward her, his heart racing. Pulling the letters from his pocket, he held them out, like an accusation.

"You?"

She nodded, tears falling down her face.

Suddenly, the features of her face reached the recesses of Luke's memory and he felt light-headed.

"Sarah...?"

"It's me, Daddy."

"The letters, what do they mean, why now, what..." Luke's words came out in a stutter of emotion.

"I know you didn't kill him daddy..." she sobbed. "...because... I did."

Luke shook his head in disbelief. "Your...grandfather? No, impossible. No, you were only 12!"

"He was...hurting me." She looked down, ashamed.

Suddenly, a weight was lifted and it all made sense.Luke had paid for his daughter's crime without even knowing it. There is nothing a man won't do for his child, even in ignorance. Had he known, Luke would have killed Sarah's grandfather himself, to the same result.

He took her hand. He was finally free.