“She wrote this knowing she was dying. She asked him to hold onto it until the right moment.”
“What’s in it?” I whispered.
“The truth about Dad.”
I laughed weakly. “Dad stayed. He took care of her.”
“That’s what she thought too.”
“Read it,” I said.
“Not here,” he replied. “Once you know, you can’t unknow it.”
We slipped into a small side room. Benjamin closed the door and broke the seal.
It began like a goodbye.
“My sweet children,” he read. “If you’re reading this, it means I was right about what I feared. It also means I didn’t live long enough to protect you myself.”
I pressed my hand to my mouth.
She wrote about finding messages she wasn’t meant to see, about money that moved quietly, and about dates that didn’t align.
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