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“Did you ever regret it?” Joseph asked “You know, all the things you gave up?”

Regret Such a powerful word, steeped in sadness and pain “No,” Francis said quietly, realizing as he spoke that it was true He’d never regretted becoiven hith and a compassion and a mission It wasn’t until years later, years upon years, that he’d begun, not to regret, exactly …

Want Yes, that was the word He’d one i

nto his darkened bedroos that couldn’t be assuaged, all the moments that had never truly been his Like when he’d first held the tiny, screahter, could never be his daughter Or the times he’d looked into Madelaine’s eyes and ached at the way she saw him, the chasteness of her love

“So the truth of his words “I guess I wanted it all—children, a wife, a fa ant There are always sacrifices…”

“I think we can get ant in life,” Levi said “It’s just that we have the devil of a ti out what that is”

“Yeah,” Joseph added “Soht side up”

“But Father is right,” Thoift from God—e do with it is up to us”

Francis didn’t want to think about that, about what he could have if he found the courage to change his life Glancing at the clock, he saw that it was 7:00 PM “Okay, we have thirty uys” He reached into his canvas pack and pulled out a stack of yellow legal pads and a handful of pens “I want each of you to write a letter to your wife, telling her as s, your fears, your hopes and dreams, as you can”

Thoal pads for our rohed “Obviously you’ve never written a love letter, Father”

The hed as they reached for the pads and pens Within moun to write Pens scratched quietly on paper

Did you ever want children, Father?

Wantant The word repeated itself, ran together and stabbed deep… Ah, he wanted so s he couldn’t have…

Visions of Madelaine and Lina caathering in the air around hirab them, and draw them close

She loved him; he knew that, had always known it