Chapter 3: The Letter She Never Wanted Me To Read
I stared at the phone screen until the words blurred.
A picture of Emily’s handwriting.
A message from someone who knew my family.
A secret that had apparently been waiting for years.
Sarah watched my face change.
“What is it?””
I looked at her.
For the first time since I met her, I didn’t recognize the person standing in front of me.
“Who else knows about this?””
Her expression hardened.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.””
“You’re lying again.””
She stood.
“Marcus, you’re acting insane.””
“No.””
I held up the phone.
“You are going to explain this.””
Her eyes moved to the screen.
And she went completely still.
That was when I knew.
She knew exactly what it was.
“Where did you get that?””
The question wasn’t denial.
It was panic.
“Who sent it?””
She looked away.
“Marcus…”
“Who sent it?””
She didn’t answer.
So I called the number.
One ring.
Two.
Three.
Then a woman answered.
“Marcus?””
I froze.
I knew that voice.
Not well.
But enough.
“Who is this?””
A pause.
“Rachel.””
My mind raced.
Rachel.
Emily’s sister.
I hadn’t spoken to her in almost five years.
“Why do you have that letter?””
Her voice trembled.
“Because Emily asked me to keep a copy.””
I closed my eyes.
“Why?””
“Because she was afraid.””
The room became silent.
Sarah sat down.
For once, she looked nervous.
“Afraid of what?””
Rachel took a breath.
“Of Sarah.””
My eyes moved to my wife.
Sarah immediately stood.
“That’s ridiculous.””
I ignored her.
“What happened?””
Rachel’s voice broke slightly.
“Emily knew she was getting worse. She knew she didn’t have much time left.””
I looked at the box.
At the missing letter.
“She wrote letters for Michael.””
“Yes.””
“And Sarah?””
“Sarah was already in your life.””
I felt my stomach drop.
“What do you mean?””
Rachel was quiet.
Then:
“Marcus, Emily found out Sarah had been saying things about her.””
I looked at Sarah.
“What things?””
Sarah shook her head.
“Don’t listen to this.””
Rachel continued.
“She told people Emily was keeping you trapped in the past.””
My jaw tightened.
“When?””
“Before Emily died.””
The room felt smaller.
I looked at Sarah.
“Is this true?””
She crossed her arms.
“She was sick. People said things.””
“Did you?””
No answer.
“Did you say those things?””
Her silence was enough.
Rachel continued.
“Emily didn’t hate Sarah. That’s what makes this worse.””
I looked down.
“What do you mean?””
“She actually wanted you to be happy.””
My throat tightened.
“Then why was she afraid?””
“Because she found out Sarah was trying to convince you to move Michael away from Emily’s family.””
I looked at Sarah.
“What?””
Rachel’s voice became softer.
“She was worried Sarah would slowly erase every piece of Emily from Michael’s life.””
The words hit harder because they were exactly what had happened.
The dinners.
The box.
The comments.
The missing letter.
I looked at Sarah.
“You were doing exactly that.””
She stood quickly.
“No.””
“Then explain.””
“I was trying to help him move on.””
“No.””
I shook my head.
“You were trying to make him forget.””
Her face changed.
“You don’t understand what it’s like living with someone who never chooses you.””
I stared at her.
“Sarah, he was sixteen.””
She looked toward the stairs.
Toward Michael.
“He always looked at me like I was temporary.””
I followed her gaze.
And suddenly I understood something.
Sarah wasn’t just cruel.
She was jealous.
Jealous of a woman who was dead.
Jealous of memories she could never compete with.
But understanding someone didn’t mean excusing them.
“Where is the original letter?””
I asked.
Sarah looked away.
“I destroyed it.””
Michael gasped.
I turned.
He was standing at the bottom of the stairs.
His face had fallen.
“You destroyed it?””
Sarah’s eyes widened.
“Michael…”
“No.””
His voice shook.
“You said you lost it.””
“I didn’t want to upset you.””
“You lied.””
The pain in his voice was worse than anger.
Sarah stepped forward.
“I was trying to protect you.””
Michael backed away.
“You don’t protect people by taking away the last thing their mom left them.””
Nobody spoke.
Then Sarah whispered:
“You never gave me a chance.””
Michael looked at her.
“You never wanted me.””
That sentence broke whatever was left.
Sarah grabbed her purse.
“I’m leaving.””
I didn’t stop her.
Not this time.
At the door, she paused.
“You think Emily was perfect?””
I said nothing.
She looked at me.
“She wasn’t.””
“I know.””
That surprised her.
Because she expected me to defend a memory.
But I wasn’t defending Emily.
I was protecting my son.
Sarah walked out.
The house became quiet.
The kind of quiet that comes after a storm.
Michael sat at the table.
I sat across from him.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then he whispered:
“Dad?””
“Yeah?””
“Do you hate her?””
I looked at him.
“No.””
He looked surprised.
“I’m angry.””
I nodded.
“But hate changes you.””
He looked down.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.””
I reached across the table.
“Michael.””
He looked up.
“I’m sorry I didn’t notice.””
His eyes filled.
And for the first time in months, maybe years, my son let himself cry in front of me.
I held him.
And I promised myself something.
I would never again let someone make him feel like he was a guest in his own home.
The next morning, I opened my email.
There was one new message.
From Rachel.
Subject line:
May you like
*The second letter Emily wrote was not for Michael. It was for you.*
And attached was a file dated three days before Emily died.
