Her brothers stared at the floor. The lawyer slid the page forward, but she did not touch it.
“That proves it,” she said, though her voice had thinned. “She trapped him. A baby, at his age.”
“He knew before I did,” I said. “He wrote it before he died. Read the date.”
Her brothers stared at the floor. The lawyer slid the page forward, but she did not touch it.
“You’re pregnant,” one brother whispered.
“Yes.”
The lawyer set the envelope down and gave me a small nod, the kind Russell used to send across the breakfast table.
I picked up the box, the letter, and my coat. No one stopped me.
Some nights I spoke to Russell as if he were downstairs.
