“Now I don't know where to put the anger.”
“Maybe you don't have to put it anywhere.”
She smiled.
“Maybe.”
We both had dead husbands who had loved us and withheld truths that belonged to us.
Neither man was a monster.
That almost made it harder.
Villains simplify grief.
People do not.
Then Zane's attorney called.
There was one final instruction in the estate.
I almost refused.
“No more letters.”
The attorney said:
“It isn't a letter.”
“What is it?”
“A key.”
Of course.
I laughed.
“Fine.”
The key opened a rented storage unit.
Inside:
one cedar chest.
Nothing else.
Emily came.
So did Rebecca and Catherine.
We opened it together.
Inside were photographs Zane had collected during the search.
Missing posters.
Hospital records.
Grace's memorial documents.
Then three boxes labeled:
CLAIRE
EMILY
REBECCA
I wanted to scream at his organizational habits.
Emily opened hers.
Inside were thirty years of photographs.
