“They erased me,” I said.
Daniel looked pained. “I think they were trying to control the story.”
Richard’s voice was quiet. “Which story?”
Daniel reached into his coat pocket and removed a folded envelope. It was cream-colored, thick, expensive. My name was written across the front in handwriting I recognized immediately.
My mother’s.
“I found this tonight,” he said. “In the drawer of the entry table. Whitney asked me to get her gloves before I left. This was underneath them.”
He held it out.
I did not take it.
For a moment, I was twelve again, standing outside my mother’s bedroom while she told someone on the phone that I was sensitive, difficult, too much like Richard’s side of the family.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Daniel said. “It’s sealed.”
Richard stood. “You don’t have to open it tonight.”
But I already knew I did.
