There were eighteen small envelopes.
Each one had something written on it.
Lily’s first birthday.
Her first day of school.
Her tenth birthday.
Her thirteenth birthday.
Her sixteenth birthday.
Her eighteenth birthday.
There were separate letters for the day her heart would be broken for the first time, the day she graduated from school, and the day she felt as if nothing in her life was going right.
And on one envelope, he had written only:
When you miss Dad more than usual.
I pressed that envelope against my chest.
Then I noticed the final letter.
It wasn’t for Lily.
It was for me.
The words on the front read:
For Sarah — on the day she is ready to live again.
I froze.
“What does that mean?”
In the recording, Jake seemed to answer my question.
“And now comes the hardest part.
“I know you, Sarah.
“After losing me, you might decide that you’re never allowed to be happy again.
