Chapter 2: She'll Never Know
The handwriting wasn't Greg's.
I knew his handwriting better than my own.
Thirty-six years of grocery lists, birthday cards, and little notes left on the kitchen counter.
This wasn't him.
It was a woman's handwriting.
Careful.
Deliberate.
Like she'd written it more than once before getting it right.
*"You kept your promise.
So will I.
She'll never know.
— D"*
I read it three times.
She'll never know.
I was the she.
I walked back into the chapel with my legs barely holding me.
I scanned every face — neighbors, coworkers, Greg's old friends.
Then I saw her.
A woman I didn't recognize, standing slightly apart from the others.
Dark coat.
Hands folded.
Eyes fixed on the casket like she was saying her own private goodbye.
When she felt me looking, she turned.
For one second, something crossed her face.
Not grief.
Not sympathy.
Fear.
She looked away first.
Then quietly, without speaking to anyone, she moved toward the exit.
I wanted to call out.
I couldn't find my voice.
By the time I reached the door, she was gone.
But someone touched my arm from behind.
It was Greg's younger brother, Paul.
His face was pale.
His eyes wouldn't meet mine.
"You found it, didn't you," he said.
It wasn't a question.
---
What did Paul know — and how long had he been keeping it from her?
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