The envelope was sitting on his bed when he came in. On it was written in vaguely familiar handwriting "Simon Camden" and his address. The postmark was smudged and there was no return address. That ruled out a recruiting college and there was no one else he knew that would want or need to send him a letter.

Nevertheless, he picked up the envelope and slit it with his fingernail. Inside was a plain sheet of notebook paper, with writing that got more and more familiar the longer he stared at it. He began to read.

"Dear Simon: Writing is very hard for me now. It didn't use to be, and that's why I thought I could write sermons, even though I wasn't all that creative. There were always words. But there aren't any more. I just feel empty inside. Even so, I called Dad for the first time last week."

Simon paused. He had known when he began to read the letter, but this solidified it. Lucy had written him. Lucy. Had. Written. HIM!

"He was surprised at first. And then I think he was happy to hear from me. That surprised me. I don't think I'm really aware of the fact that I affect other people's lives anymore. Most the time I don't even think I do. But some things he said made me want to write to you. Simon, I'm really proud of you for working at the Women's Shelter. That's really good of you. And I'm really impressed that you actually have a letter jacket. That's something no Camden had done before. Matt wanted one, but I think he was too scared to try. And thank you for saving me.

"I'm not going to include a return address on this letter. Sorry. I wish I could. But I just can't- Love, Lucy."

There the letter ended. Simon didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected any of what he was doing to get back to Lucy-not really anyway. For all that he had been doing everything for some kind of redemption, he had never expected this. But it meant that because of that she had broken her silence to the family with him! Him, and not Mary or Matt, people he had thought she would go to.

He wanted to write back to her. He wanted to tell her that everything was going to be all right, that she would be okay and he would be okay, and everything would go back to normal. 'But maybe that's what she doesn't want,' he finally thought. 'Maybe our family wasn't normal in the first place.'

So he continued what he had been doing. SATs were coming up, and he needed to study. He had to get out of Glen Oak, and he needed a scholarship to do it. That meant he needed a high score. He wouldn't be valedictorian, not like Matt, but maybe this would be enough. Then, a week later, there was another one.

"Dear Simon: Getting back in touch with my family is supposed to help me heal, so here I am again. In the past few months I've been trying and trying to make myself a self-contained entity. I contain all my own emptiness."

Reading that made Simon want to hunt out his father and make him confess to where Lucy was. She was more hurt than he'd believe and it was all there fault!

"Yet that doesn't make you human. I know that. But there's a big difference between knowing something and wanting to act on it. And I'm sorry, Simon, but I don't want to act on it fully just yet. The bruises he left me have faded but my soul still aches. I hope you understand. I'm trying and trying but I don't think trying is going to be enough.

"I'm studying here. He taught me that everything I thought could be disproven. And while that isn't a comfortable place to stand, but still I stand. So I study.everything I can get my hands on. So don't feel too bad, Simon. Love, Lucy."

'Lucy,' Simon thought. 'You don't have to apologize. I should apologize. I should beg pardon of you. I should have known.' While Simon felt that these reading Lucy's pain should put salt on open wounds, it wasn't. Lucy seemed to want to make him feel better, and that made him realize that she was a far stronger person than he'd ever thought. Which meant that this wasn't the disaster that he thought it was. Or-it still was, but now he could see both of them surviving. For the first time, he could see them both coming out whole.

And so Simon lived, lived as truly as he could, something he had somehow learned (though he wasn't quite sure how) and every so often he got letters. They were always short, and they never had a return address. And yet, in each of them he could see that things were getting a little lighter. Just like when the sun rises, it was imperceptible, and you wouldn't be able to see it if you weren't looking for it. But Simon was looking, and Simon could see it.

Then, about two months later, the envelope on his bed had one small, but very important change. There was a return address! Simon hurriedly ripped it open and noticed two things fell out, a picture and a letter. He read the letter first.

"Dear Simon: I realize that I have no way of knowing if you've even read any of the letters I've sent you. I hope you have. In fact, (I'm taking a deep breath as I write this) I hope you'll write me back. You don't have to, but I want you to. I think I'm ready for that now. After all, you're my brother and I love you.

"I'm not going to say that I'm better than before this happened. I still don't know why this happened to me, and I still wish it hadn't. But it's been a year since the last time I saw him and.and I can.grow. I'm finally beginning to see some parts of Lucy in me again, something I was afraid I would never see again.

"Simon, this is something else I can do now. I forgive you. I want you to forgive yourself. I know you feel like you should have noticed sooner. I feel like I should have gotten out, gotten help myself. But I didn't and you didn't. And while I hate that this happened to me and I have a ton of regrets, but it's okay. Simon, I forgive you. Enclosed is a picture of what I look like now. I'm a lot different. But I'm still your sister. So write me, Simon, please. Love, Lucy."

Simon stared at the picture. She was right; it didn't look much like the Lucy he remembered. The girl in the picture had brown hair that was caught up in a pony tail behind her head. She was wearing a white T-shirt, jeans, a jean jacket and tennis shoes. She stared straight into the camera, and she looked like someone Simon wouldn't mind knowing. She looked like someone he could like as a friend, as well as love as a sister.

And then what she had said sunk in. She forgave him! He wasn't going to be Kevin! He would be himself-and maybe, just maybe it would be enough. And Simon, student, swimmer, volunteer, brother, man, was able for the first time to tell himself something. "I forgive you," he told himself out loud, the words feeling strange on his tongue. "I forgive myself. And I will make sure there is no next time."

And Simon, feeling as if his penance had been served for all that it would change his life, sat down to write his sister a letter.