“Who else knows about it?”
Daniel swallowed nervously.
“Margaret knew.”
I froze.
“My wife? Daniel, Margaret died three years ago. What are you talking about?”
He turned toward me.
“She knew everything, Robert. From beginning to end.”
I grabbed his arm.
“Tell me right now!”
But he only shook his head.
“If I tell you now, you won’t believe me. Tomorrow, you’ll read it yourself. In her own handwriting.”
I couldn’t sleep that night.
The following morning, when I came out of my bedroom, the house was silent.
Daniel was gone.
His car had disappeared too.
On the kitchen table lay a white envelope.
Written on the front were the words:
“Robert, please read everything. Afterward, you can hate me. I deserve it.”
Inside were two letters.
The first was from Daniel.
On the second, I saw handwriting I recognized immediately.
Margaret’s handwriting.
My dead wife’s.
