He pulled out an envelope.
Old.
Yellowed.
Water-stained along one edge.Rings
My name was written across the front.
Margaret.
The handwriting made my entire body go cold.
I knew it.
I had six letters upstairs written in that same hand.
The same slant.
The same ridiculous curl on the T.
The same way he wrote the M in my name.
I whispered:
“Thomas.”
Walter laid the envelope on the table.
“He wrote it the night before.”
My eyes snapped toward him.
“Before what?”
He couldn’t say it.
He didn’t need to.
My hand moved toward the envelope and stopped.
“What is this?”
“He gave it to me.”
“Why?”
Walter’s voice cracked.
“He said if he didn’t come back, I had to bring it to you.”
I stared at him.
“You’ve had this for fifty-five years?”
“Yes.”
My voice rose.
“You had a letter from Thomas for me?”
