My dear Theodore,
A miracle happened, amidst all this chaos. For but a brief moment, it made me smile. It was a genuine smile, because I experienced an authentic feeling of joy. I almost forgot how heartwarming it was, to feel important and to be at the center of somebody's concern.
Your parents wrote me a new letter, one I did not ask for. I received it just yesterday, and there was a photograph attached to it. My, how much you've grown. How grateful it is to see you smile that much.
I am starting to see that what I did was right. I was right to let you go with my name, right to let you live the happy life you deserve, far from all this agitation, far from me. You are Hershel Layton now. You are the one I should have been, but you are better than I ever could have become. I am finally convinced that the Laytons did nothing wrong. Yes, Lucille may have lied a little when she justified their choice – but can I truly blame her? It is not appropriate for her to admit to me that they wanted the smartest kid, in addition to their lack of money. I could never hate the Laytons the way I hate Targent for what they did to us. I guess they just wanted to ensure that their kid would get a happy life, and that no complications would arise. In the end, their sole purpose was just to make their only child happy. I am done with all the hatred I've felt towards them.
I finally got this picture. I thought they simply ignored my request, but it appears that they were planning to contact me again. It was Lucille, your mother, who wrote this letter, as well as the previous one. She revealed that both Roland and her spend some time thinking about me, casually. They can't really get me out of their minds, because they feel a shred of guilt about their decision. Maybe it is those words that caused such a change in me – can I really hate a mother who would have loved to act differently, if she could turn back time? Can I just really hate a mother when I have lost mine – ours?
She mentioned you a lot. I will never forget what she wrote about you, about how much you make them happy.
"Adopting Hershel gave me—us— a purpose in life, my dear. You cannot begin to imagine how much we have wanted to conceive a child of our own, how much we have tried but failed to do so. To people like us, having a baby means everything. Sometimes, life got so lonely that we didn't know what to do to change our tiresome routine. We didn't want to resign ourselves to adoption, because it would have meant that we acknowledge the fact that having a child would be impossible for us. Yet, we did. It was difficult, but we did. We accepted that, and that's how we came to find your little brother.
He is such a marvelous child. He is so gentle, so pure, so intelligent. We know he is bound to live a great life, full of success. We both are filled with joy just to have him by our side. We are also filled with gratitude towards you, because you are being so mature about this situation. We will always remember your determination the day we took Hershel in. We could see in your eyes that you were looking for his happiness before yours, before everything else. We pretended to believe you when you said you were being adopted by the Phibbs—this family from your hometown, I believe— but I understood right away that you were lying just to protect everyone from worrying too much. In your eyes, I saw two things that day: worry, and sadness. Two things your little brother couldn't know. Yet, in spite of all this, you didn't try to stop us. Filled with courage, you let us go, without knowing if you would ever hear about us again. For this, my dear Desmond—if only I knew your real name— you have our heartfelt thanks ."
It's funny how things work out, sometimes. They wish to know my real name, though they keep using it throughout this letter. Hershel. You… and me. It's starting to fade away. I don't really identify myself as you (or me?) anymore. I am Desmond Sycamore, and you are Hershel Layton. You are Hershel, and you are happy. That's all that matters to me.
Lucille and Roland are two wonderful people. I am now aw are that I can keep in touch with them. This way, I'll always know how you are doing, and nothing could have pleased me more.
I hope you will never live what I live right now, because it's still happening, and I'm starting to believe it will never end. People will never stop being mean. If Father were still here with me, he wouldn't have let them behave this way. I know Father would fight against all evil. I still think about him, sometimes. Is he still alive? If he is, is he free? I don't think he is, either way, because if he was free, he would come to see us. He would claim us, and he would never stop until he'd have reached his goal.
I have to go. There are still so many things I must do today – for school, for my parents, for the Laytons, for myself. I will not forget to write if anything new occurs.
Your brother,
Desmond Sycamore