Free The Woman in the Fifth by Douglas Kennedy

logged on – and wondered if he could gauge my disappointment as I opened my AOL mailbox and found no news from my daughter.
     
I'd been writing Megan twice a week since arriving in Paris. In my emails I asked her to please try to understand that I never meant to hurt her; that she remained the most important person in my life. Even if she now hated me for what had happened, I would never cease to love her and hoped that communication could be somehow re-established.
     
At first, my emails all followed a similar line of argument.
     
After three weeks, I switched tactics – writing to her about my life in Paris, about the room in which I was living, the way I passed my day, the movies I saw – and always ending with a simple statement:
     
I will write again next week. Always know that you are in my thoughts every hour of the day – and that I miss you terribly. Love . . . Dad
     
When no answer was forthcoming, I wondered if she was being blocked from writing to me by her mother – as I also knew that, by telling Megan details of my life in Paris, I was probably passing them on to my ex-wife as well. But I didn't care if she learned about my diminished circumstances. What further harm could she do to someone who'd lost everything?
     
But then, at the start of my sixth week in Paris, I opened my AOL account and saw – amid the usual detritus sent to me from loansharks and penis-extension hucksters – an email marked: [email protected].
     
I hit the Read button nervously, preparing myself for a ' Never write to me again ' letter . . . given that, the one time I called her after everything blew up, she told me that, as far as she was concerned, I was dead. But now I read:
     
Dear Dad
     
Thanks for all your emails. Paris sounds cool. School is still hard – and I'm still getting a lot of crap from people in my class about what you did. And I still find it hard to understand how you could have done that with one of your students. Mom told me I was to tell her if you made contact with me – but I've been reading all your emails at school. Keep writing me – and I'll make sure Mom doesn't know we're in contact.
     
Your daughter
     
Megan
     
PS I'm still angry at you . . . but I miss you too.
     
I put my face in my hands after reading this – and found myself sobbing. Your daughter . That said it all. After nearly three months of thinking that I had lost Megan forever, here was the response I had been hoping for. I'm still angry at you . . . but I miss you too.
     
Hitting the Reply button, I wrote:
     
Dear Megan
     
It was wonderful hearing from you. You're right to be angry with me. I'm angry with me. I did something stupid – but by the time I realized I had made a terrible mistake, things started to spin out of my control and I found myself unable to stop bad things from happening. However, you do need to know that people took my mistake and used it for their own aims. I am not trying to make excuses for what I did. I accept responsibility – and will always feel terrible for hurting you. I am simply so pleased that we are now back in contact with each other – and promise to keep writing you every day.
     
I'm sure that, very soon, things will get easier at school . . . and that you will be able to put so much of this behind you. I appreciate how difficult it is not telling your mother that we're in touch. In time, I hope that your mom and I will be able to be on friendly terms with each other – because I'm sure that's what you want too. Always know that I think the world of you and am here for you whenever you need me. Meanwhile I promise to write you every day.
     
Love
     
Dad
     
I read through the email several times before sending it, wanting to double-check that it was devoid of self-pity, that it didn't come across as a self-justification, and that – most of all – it communicated to my daughter how much I loved and missed her.
     
As I stood up to leave, the man behind the desk looked up