Chapter 2: The Envelope on the Table
The room went completely still.
Diana set down her wine glass.
Slowly.
I looked at the woman.
She had Emma's eyes.
The same shape.
The same quiet sadness I used to see when Emma thought no one was watching.
"I'm Margaret," she said softly.
"Emma's mother."
Oliver hadn't moved from the floor.
He was still holding the locket with both hands.
"She never told me about you," I said.
Margaret's jaw tightened.
"She couldn't.
I wasn't supposed to exist."
Before I could ask what that meant, Diana stepped forward.
"This is a private family event," she said.
"I don't know who let you in, but you need to leave."
Margaret didn't even look at her.
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a small envelope.
She placed it on the table next to the ruined cake.
"Emma sent me this three weeks before she passed.
She asked me to wait.
She said I would know when the right moment was."
She looked directly at me.
"She wrote about you.
She wrote about Oliver.
And she wrote about what she found out the month before she got sick."
My hands went cold.
"What did she find out?"
Margaret glanced at Diana.
Then back at me.
"That you weren't the only one she told about the locket."
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What was inside that envelope — and what did Emma discover before she passed?
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The truth is more devastating than anyone in that room expected.
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