My eyes went back to Dad’s envelope.
“Why did you write to him?”
Her expression closed.
“The sealed capsules are opened after five years.”
“That part is private.”
“But Dad’s gone, Mom.”
She flinched, and I regretted it immediately.
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I’m the one who wakes up in the house without him, Monica. I don’t need you explaining where your father is.”
“That part is private.”
My throat tightened.
“You followed me for 40 miles.”
“I was worried.”
“You were curious.”
“Ryan and I take care of you.”
“I never asked you to do everything.”
My throat tightened.
“We want to.”
Mom looked at me. “Do you?”
That scared me more than the box.
“Go home, Monica.”
I did.
That scared me more than the box.
But I didn’t let it go.
That was my mistake.
***
For the next three days, I called her constantly.
