The Post-man tried to walk up the stairs without making a sound. Somehow the old-man heard him and opened the door.
“Any letters from my son?”
Every day the old-man had asked this question for the last year.
Every time the answer had been the same, “No, if there was a letter, I will deliver it to you.”
Then the old-man would sigh, shake his head and go back, closing the door behind him.
The man’s son had died. No one had the heart to tell him. Some thought he knew but did not want to accept it.
“Any letters from my son?”
The Post-man had come prepared, “Yes, ” he said.
“Please can you read it?”
The post-man knew that the Old-man could not read.
Pulling out a scrap of paper from his pocket, he started, “Dear father, I hope this letter finds you in good health…..”