Leo stood beside me, pressed close against my arm.
“Open it,” he whispered.
I slid my finger beneath the flap.
The letter inside was dated the day before Noah died.
Em,
I’m going to talk to your dad tonight. I know you’re scared. I am too. But I don’t want our baby starting life as a secret. Whatever happens, I want you to remember this: I choose you. I choose our child. I choose the life we’re building, even if everyone needs time to understand it.
There’s something else I need to tell you, but not in a letter. It’s about our families. My mom knows part of it, and I think your mom knows the rest. I found something in Dad’s old papers that doesn’t make sense. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe I’m overthinking it. But if I’m right, this baby connects our families in a way nobody has admitted.
