It was my younger brother.
He was late.
Very late.
His hair was messy, his face flushed, and he looked like he had been running.
“Grace,” he said quietly, grabbing my arm. “I need to talk to you.”
Something in his voice made my chest tighten.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Not here.”
He pulled me away from the crowd toward a quiet corner near the back of the venue.
Music and laughter continued behind us, but suddenly everything felt distant.
He leaned closer.
“Grace… you need to know the truth about Dad.”
My stomach dropped.
“What are you talking about?”
His hands were shaking.
Slowly, he reached into his jacket and pulled out an envelope.
Old.
Slightly wrinkled.
The moment I saw the handwriting on the front, my breath caught.
It was Mom’s.
“The lawyer gave this to me this morning,” my brother whispered.
I stared at the envelope.
“Why would Mom write us a letter?”
He glanced toward the garden where Dad and Victoria were posing for wedding photos.
Then he looked back at me.
“Because before Mom died,” he said quietly, “she discovered something about Dad.”
My heart started pounding.
“What kind of something?”
He swallowed.
“She realized Dad was hiding the truth.”
