Grace Robertson
172 Treetop Drive, Apartment A
Fayetteville, NC, 28311

Sent to:
Charlie Feld
C/O Hathian Police Department
Hathian, Louisiana, 35512

Mr. Feld.

It may seem unusual that you're receiving this letter, yet I do hope it finds you well and healthy.

It has taken me some time, over a year now, to pull myself to reach out to you, and though there are other ways it could be done, perhaps the best path is that of least resistance.

My name is Grace Robertson. I am your daughter.

I urge you to continue reading, and give the explanation it's due course, as I am sure this is not news you wish to hear. I assure you, I do not seek assistance, money, or favor.

I am 22 years old and I am a student at Fayetteville State University studying Criminal Justice. I am a Specialist in the North Carolina National Guard and I am attached to the 16th Military Police out of Ft Bragg.

I was born in 1991 in Womack Army Medical Center, located in Ft Bragg, NC. My parents, as I have known them, had been married barely a year. My father, due to tour overseas for the kick off of the gulf war, was, at the time, a Sergeant with the 82nd Airborne Division, though I can't recall which Battalion he was assigned to. Most of my childhood he was 16th Military Police, and had retired as 1st Sergeant.

You may be asking what this has to do with anything, though it is for certain I would like to shed light upon the reason I have come to sit here, penning this letter.

My mother was unfaithful. Sometime in June of 1990, her and my father, not long married, fought as my father was soon to leave on TDY. My mother's response was to head to the place they met, the pier at Wrightsville Beach. It's also where she met you I would believe.

My mother never spoke of the time she spent there, though it seemed she enjoyed it, as she regularly went to visit friends at Camp Lejune through the next ten years after my birth. Not long after my 10th birthday, she didn't return. I had discovered some years later, that she met someone there and started the divorce proceedings, giving my father full custody.

My father and I were close. I can attribute much of my knowledge to him and the time we spent, save those few months where I would be sent to Charlotte to stay with my grandparents while he was on TDY, missions, or even deployment.

My father retired finally in 2006, though retirement didn't slow him down. He worked for a privatized company, security at the base, until his death a year ago.

It was when his health was failing him that he cursed my mother and her infidelity, but thanked her for brining him me out of tryst. He explained that he had known all along I was not his, though he loved me anyway. I hated my mother even more. She did not come to the funeral.

I found her, she was easy enough to find rather, in Jacksonville. Divorced multiple times, and drunk quite before 10am. It was hard looking at her, or even speaking with her, but she remembered only one thing of my conception. Your name.

My family is beyond me, scattered if you will, knowing only that of my father's side, and my mother was too interested in Irish whiskey to give more information. I can't help but wonder if you would remember her. Michelle Robertson, and she would have been of slender build, with red hair and green eyes and barely 18 back in 91.

I cannot right the wrongs that have happened to bring me into the world, and to give my late father the woman he loved so dearly he never loved another after her. But I can reach out for the connection that I've only recently discovered, and see what lies ahead. Again, I do not seek assistance, or even a replacement father to fill the void my own has left, but to perhaps know the man who chose to, perhaps by drunken foolishness, bring me unknowingly into the world.

I look forward to hearing from you, and do feel free to contact me should you wish.

Grace Robertson,
[email protected]
910-555-0512

Dear Grace,

I’m sorry to hear of your father’s loss. First and foremost. Like you I too lost my father at a young age and there are no words that can explain that pain nor make it any easier. The news that you may be my daughter is a surprise to say the least. I use the words “may be” decisively, as I’m aware of your mother and remember my short and brief time with her.

Your mother, Michelle, did indeed spend a lot of time in and around Camp Lejeune and the Wilmington area. At the time I too was young, in my early 20’s if I recall. Your mother was a regular visitor of a buddy of mine, Alexander Velasquez. We were both with 2nd Squad, 1st Platoon, Bravo Company 1st Battalion, 6th Marines. We both went through recon indoc later and would, long in the future, serve together in both Afghanistan and Iraq, him in Reconnaissance and myself in Counter Intelligence. I only bring him into the picture because your mother would come to visit him for days at a time. She had always told us she was in college in Virginia somewhere and would come down to visit her uncle, who she claimed was a retired Marine in the Jacksonville area.

One evening, Alex, your mother, and myself were all down in Wrightsville beach. Alex was going to be deploying in the coming weeks and felt it best to call off the relationship. I’m not sure if he knew that your mother was married or not. Your mother was pretty pissed at this change, I later learned that Alex had already started dating another woman and that night had left our party to go visit her in Wilmington, leaving your mother and myself. I attempted to console her but she was far more interested in getting drunk. I myself succumbed to the plight of alcohol and we both ended up drunk in a hotel room together. We spent that weekend together, and that Sunday evening I dropped her off at the Greyhound Bus Station, and believed she was heading back to her college in Virignia. I suppose my only answer for my actions at the time were that I was young and, honestly, quite foolish.

I’ve never had contact with her since, and I’m sad to say I was never made aware of the possibility that our weekend together resulted in the conception of a child. I do hope you understand that before I proceed further with the possibility that you may very well be my daughter that we engage in the proper DNA testing, I have no issues covering the expense of this. I only make that requirement because, honestly, your mother had a bit of a reputation for seeking companionship with other men and it may very well be that another man could very well be your father.

Sincerely,
Charlie Feld

Dear Charlie,

I can honestly say that I was surprised to receive your correspondence, as well as so quickly. I can understand the concern of such news out of the middle of nothing appearing within your hands.

The news you've brought is nearly dis concerning, almost rough to behold. As you can understand, I knew my mother was a whore of sorts, though it stings to see it writ across by another's memory. Yet I was not close to the woman. Now I wonder if this Alexander Velasquez is perhaps my father, and I find myself sitting here, imagining myself and my mother on some Jerry Springer episode, trying to figure out the paternity of my existence. Its... Odd.

I don't mind the DNA test, though as I have said, I have no desire for financial assistance or the like. I am quite well supported on my own, between my G.I Bill, as well as my father's pension and investments. This will, however, require travel, as I would assume you would like the results administered in a local setting instead of sent digitally from one testing facility to the other.

I apologize that this is a shortened letter, without the further questions I would ask, and the details of each. I can honestly say I have done some digging and research to discover more about you, and some of the information found has me quite curious. I've also included a picture of myself, recently taken. Perhaps you would find similarities to yourself, or your friend.

I am sorry to trouble you with this, and have the doubt hang, but we can move forward and have things handled in a quick and efficient manner.

Respectfully

Grace Robertson

Dear Grace,

I'm sorry the news about your mother was troubling. To say the least she fit the mold of most women who were often associated with young Marines at the time. She was fun to be around, but that was about the extent of my association with her.

While I would normally be fine traveling to North Carolina to tend to the issue of the DNA testing, I'm afraid my current duties with the Hathian Police Department will not allow me to travel that much right now, so yes it would be a lot quicker for you to travel here. I can send a plane ticket if need be. Do know that Hathian is not the cleanest of places and that accommodations here are far from glamorous, I would seriously suggest you not bring anything of high value such as jewelry or such. Typically we would need DNA from your mother as well, but I was already able to track down her police report and will soon obtain the medical records for a DNA sample from the local hospital.. don't ask.

With the photo you sent, I can honestly say that you look nothing like Velasquez. He was, as his name indicates, quite latin. Mexican to be exact, but very stereotypical of that nature in appearance. Other than the dark hair you look nothing like him, and that's not saying much as I myself had quite dark hair...back when I had hair. I've attached a photo as well so you can see me, also in the photo is the girl I'm currently seeing, which you may or may not get to meet her while you're here depending on the timing. Let me know when you would be able to travel and I'll help make arrangements.

Sincerely,
Charlie Feld

Dear Charlie,

Upon seeing the picture, I am quite surprised to say that the woman you are seeing looks a fair bit like my own mother and could very well pass for an aunt. As for yourself, it is hard to see a resemblance beyond skin tone. Do you ever smile I wonder?

I have made arrangements for flight, though I must be frankly honest Charlie, I've also looked into transferring to a local guard unit in Louisiana, as well as the college located in Hathian. It may be dirty and lack glamor, but it seems no different from any dirty little town with it's secrets. I've survived the deserts and mountains of Afghanistan, I'm sure a southern port town would be little different, and a whole lot cooler.

My flight will take place next week, and I would hope to meet you shortly after arrival. Meanwhile, I see no harm in telling you a bit more about myself.

I've always been the quiet one, or called such things, though it is mostly untrue. I find I have no desire to speak if there is nothing important to add to the conversation, and I tend to enjoy time to myself. I dabble at surfing, though most of my enjoyment in my free time comes from tinkering on whatever project car my father had lying around, or in the garage.

I am attending school for criminal justice, and I intend to use my degree once it's obtained, hopefully this year, in law enforcement. I have the experience already.

I've also decided, long ago, that I would not fall in my mother's footsteps. I tend not to date, and when I do, it's short lived. Not many men are interested in a quixotic woman who has no desire to jump into bed with them at first greeting. Needless to say, you do not have grandchildren, and most likely won't for some time. I do drink on occasion, preferring a high quality scotch to most anything else, and I have a shameless secret of enjoying a good cigar now and again.

Respectfully,