They wrote and I did not write back. I have all the letters. Their life is good, they say. The children wrote about happy days, school and favorite pastimes. Then the letters became more sporadic. I justified my silence by lack of free time. Besides, I have told myself, they already must know that I care. Today I opened two letters. Now, the writing is much colder, and somewhat distant. They asked me if I am well, how my family is, and the weather, etc. I started to cry. I promised myself that now when I have more time, I will write back because I want to know more, I want to know everything. I will tell them that I never ceased to think of them, and that they are in my prayers. And, for the first time, I understood why I did not open their letters. I was afraid I may find out I was hurting them by not writing back.