I sat on the floor and pulled the first cardboard box toward me while the locksmith got to work on the strongbox. Inside, I found bundles of letters tied together with rough twine. They looked decades old.
I pulled one out and read the first few lines.
In that heartbeat, I realized I should have forced the issue while he was alive, or never opened that closet at all.
The locksmith got to work on the strongbox.
Tom, the check came yesterday. Thank you. I didn’t know how I was going to cover the cleats and the league fee both this month. He doesn’t know where the money comes from. I told him it’s from an old friend of his father’s. I hope that’s all right. He asks about you sometimes. — M
My skin felt cold. I opened the next one.
Tom, you don’t have to keep doing this. I know what it costs you to send it. But if you’re going to keep helping, we need to talk about how long we’re going to keep the truth from him. He’s not a little boy anymore. He deserves to know who you are to him. — Marilyn
There it was.
We need to talk about how long we’re going to keep the truth from him.
Thirty-nine years of marriage, and the only conclusion I could reach was that Thomas had a secret child — a whole life I wasn’t invited to see.
“I was 19 when I married you,” I muttered to the hallway. “When did you even find the time?”
I shuffled through more envelopes until I saw a return address that made me stop breathing for a second.
It was from a State Correctional Facility.
I tore it open, and the mystery got stranger.
“When did you even find the time?”
