The Sweetest Save

Letter

"Man, you suck at this!" Pascal Beauvais cheered and pumped his fist in the air as he won yet another game of Call of Duty against his best friend and teammate, Benjamin "Rat" Meyers.

"Dammit!" Rat rolled his eyes and jokingly punched Pascal in the shoulder.

"Behave," Tuure Raskinen, the impatient but kind goaltender of the Toronto Maple Leafs, scolded his two teammates. "I'm not your babysitters."

"So mean," Rat protested. "You don't understand how fun it is to take care of a kid. You just see the bad parts."

"Whatever," Tuure huffed and laughed at the same time. "Do your own thing, I'll do mine. I'm voluntarily single, no kids. Hey, I'm going to go get my mail."

"See you later, grouch," Rat yelled. Tuure rolled his eyes and walked out into the chilly but clear April morning. He walked down his driveway, looking around at the buds on the trees and smiling. Spring was definitely his favorite season.

When Tuure reached the end of his driveway, he opened his mailbox. He found new editions of some of the magazines he was subscribed to as well as a newspaper.

There was also a letter addressed to him, and the return address was to Anja Heikkenen.

Tuure gasped so hard that he choked, clutching the letter tight enough to make it crumple. Could it really be a letter from his ex-girlfriend, who he still missed almost twelve years since she left? Or was it someone he knew from Savonlinna or Dubrovnik playing a nasty trick on him?

As he walked back up his driveway with his mail, Tuure desperately hoped that it wasn't the latter.

His friends were too busy with their video game marathon to notice him when he walked in, his eyes wide. He walked into his kitchen and rested his elbows on the counter as he frantically opened the envelope.

The first thing out were a few pictures. Tuure recognized the pictures. They were photos taken of him and Anja as teenagers. He remembered Anja writing cute things on them and slipping them into his locker at school.

Sure enough, when he flipped the pictures over, they all had some variant of I love you on the back.

He reached further into the envelope and finally pulled out a letter.

Tuure wasted no time and started to read.

Dear Tuure,

I hope that you get this letter. As I do not know where you live, I'm mailing it to the Toronto Maple Leafs arena in hopes that they will forward it to you.

Anyway, that's enough of my ranting. Listen, Tuure, I know this is unexpected. I know we haven't talked to each other for almost twelve years now. I know you've probably forgotten about me altogether and that you probably have a new partner and children.

I haven't forgotten about you, though, Tuure. I watched as you grew from a no-name rookie to an NHL star. I watched you lift the Stanley Cup above your head in 2011. I saw you take it to the sauna in that one spa you took me to for my fifteenth birthday. I saw you win your first Vezina trophy in 2014.

I also watched some Leafs fans turn violently on you after every loss, especially in the playoffs. Thankfully, it's only a small fraction of Leafs fans that hate you, but the things they say...they're just so vile. Even Toronto sports media is getting in on it, which is why I think I made the right choice in leaving all those years ago.

It's about time that I wrote to you. I've been thinking about it for a few years, but I know I have to do it now. There are two very important reasons why I wrote this letter today instead of many years ago.

Two years ago, I was told by doctors that I had stage 4A cervical cancer. Unfortunately, despite the countless rounds of chemotherapy that have made me lose weight, my hair, and occasionally my lunch, the cancer hasn't gone away. In fact, it's gotten worse, and I was told a few months ago that it's terminal.

Now that I only have a couple months to live, I figured that it's time to tell you the true reason why I left you behind in Boston.

Well, my reason was kind of true. Something did happen in my family that would ruin your career. I suppose, then, that I am now telling you the details of my reason.

Listen, we were still kids back then in 2005. We were legally adults, but we'd only graduated high school a few months before moving to Boston. We weren't really used to being adults.

Therefore, we were kind of careless in...some of the things we did. I'm sure you know what I mean when I tell you this news: I have an eleven-year-old daughter, and you are her father.

I know this is a huge bombshell to drop on you in a single sentence, but I don't know how else to tell you. I only have two months to live as of today, so I needed to inform you of your daughter's existence in order to give you two enough time to bond.

I do hope that you will come over and meet her, Tuure. Although she is not aware that you are her father, she still knows who you are, and she likes you. She is a goaltender as well, and you have inspired her greatly.

That is pretty much everything that I have to say. Goodbye for now, Tuure. I hope that you come to Finland soon.

With love,

ANJA KATARIINA HEIKENNEN.

Tuure's hands started to shake, and he dropped the letter to the floor. He sank down next to it as his brain tried to accept all the information that he had been told.

The letter was certainly real, and he knew that thanks to the pictures that Anja had sent that it was from the girl that he had once loved and had never truly stopped loving.

He put his face in his hands as the information sunk in.

Anja had cancer—terminal cancer. She was going to die in a matter of months.

And she had a daughter. The girl's father was Tuure. Tuure had a daughter, and he'd missed the first eleven years of her life.

Pascal looked over and noticed his friend in severe distress. He approached the goalie, who was now sobbing weakly.

"Tuure, what happened?" Pascal asked.

"I...I'll explain later," Tuure answered. "I need to go back to Finland for a few months."

"Alright," Pascal sighed. "Well, if you need my help, I'm here for you."

Tuure smiled. "Thanks, friend."

The moment after Pascal and Benjamin left, Tuure screamed at the top of his lungs.

His life had just fallen apart, and he had no idea how to put it back together.