“There’s a letter.”
I found it beneath the papers.
Michael,
If you are reading this, then I suppose you finally discovered that I knew more than I let on.
Yes, I knew you were interested in my house.
I knew you wondered about my savings.
I even knew you sometimes studied my medication when you thought I wasn’t watching.
My throat closed.
I nearly stopped reading.
But I owed her the courage to finish.
At first, it hurt.
Then I realized something.
You never stole from me.
You never pressured me to change my will.
You never stopped me from seeing family.
And when I became weaker, you did not become impatient.
You became afraid.
I saw the moment the house stopped being the thing you feared losing most.
It was me.
My tears fell onto the page.
I wiped them away quickly.
The letter continued.
That is when I knew I had been right to wait.
I am leaving the house to Caroline because it belongs in our family, and because I never wanted you to spend the rest of your life wondering whether your love for me was real or simply tied to an inheritance.
I am leaving most of the money to people who are where you once were—hungry, frightened, embarrassed, and one bad week away from sleeping in a vehicle.
You will understand why.
I did.
God, I did.
