Sometimes I was right.
Usually, I was merely confident.
I opened the box.
Inside lay a USB drive, several printed emails, an old photograph, and a sealed envelope.
The envelope said:
FOR LEAH — WHEN THE QUESTIONS BECOME TOO LOUD
I opened it with trembling fingers.
My darling,
There is something I couldn’t bring myself to tell you while I was alive.
Not because you were incapable of hearing it.
Because I was ashamed.
I stopped breathing.
I spent my entire life believing I could protect our family by working harder, saving more, fixing what was broken.
But some things cannot be repaired by the person who loves them.
I discovered that someone very close to us was involved in Richard Vale’s plan long before I became ill.
I confronted that person.
I was promised it would stop.
It didn’t.
I pressed my hand to my mouth.
The letter continued.