Chapter 2: The Envelope With My Name On It
I followed Anna inside and sat down at her kitchen table.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
She poured two cups of coffee, set one in front of me, and didn't say anything for a long moment.
Then she looked at me and said:
"When I came to find you all those years ago, Carol answered the door.
She told me you had already moved on.
That you were engaged to someone else and didn't want any contact."
I stared at her.
"That's not true," I said.
"I never said that.
I never stopped thinking about you."
Anna nodded slowly, like she had already made her peace with it long ago.
"I know that now," she said quietly.
"But I believed her.
I had no reason not to."
My chest felt hollow.
Thirty-six years.
Carol had known.
She had looked me in the eye every single day and never said a word.
"There's more," Anna said.
She stood up and walked to a drawer in the hallway.
When she came back, she was holding an old envelope.
She placed it on the table between us and said:
"She sent me this.
About six months after I came to your door.
I've kept it ever since.
I never knew whether to contact you or just let it go."
I looked down at the envelope.
The handwriting on the front was Carol's.
My name was on it.
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What's inside that envelope — and why did Carol keep it hidden for nearly forty years?
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