was old.
Yellowed around the edges.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was one page.
Only one.
I read the first line.
Margaret,
I had to stop.
I pressed the paper against my chest.
Thomas’s handwriting.
His words.
After eight years.
I continued.
If Benjamin ever asks you for money after I’m gone, please don’t give it to him until you speak with Richard.
I looked up.
Benjamin was staring at the ground.
I read the next sentence.
I love our son, but I have discovered that he
