Chapter 4: The Name in the Letter
Margaret unfolded the letter slowly.
The paper had been handled before.
The crease lines were soft, worn at the corners.
Someone had read it more than once.
She didn't read it aloud immediately.
She scanned the first paragraph, then looked up at me.
"Emma wrote this the week she gave Oliver the locket," she said.
"The same week."
I didn't say anything.
"She knew she was running out of time.
The doctors had told her the treatment wasn't working.
She said she had two things left to do.
Give Oliver something to carry her with him.
And make sure the truth didn't disappear with her."
Oliver was leaning against my arm.
I could feel him breathing.
"Read it," I said.
Margaret began.
*"Mom — if you're reading this to Nathan, then the moment I was afraid of has already arrived.
I need him to know what I found, and I need him to hear it from you, because I don't think he'll believe it from a letter alone.
He needs to see your face.
He needs to know you're real.*
*I found the documents in Dad's office when I was nineteen.
You know that part.
What I never told you is that I made copies before I left.
I kept them in a folder in the filing cabinet in the spare room.
I never told Nathan they existed.
I was going to destroy them.
I thought that chapter was finished.*
*Two months ago, I came home early from a hospital appointment and found Diana in the spare room.
She said she was looking for gift wrap.
The filing cabinet drawer was open.
The folder was on the floor.*
*I didn't say anything to her.
I took the folder that night and mailed everything to you.*
*I don't know what she was looking for.
I don't know if she found what she needed.
But I know she was looking.
And I know she didn't tell Nathan she had been in that room.*
*If she is still in his life when you read this — please make sure he understands what kind of person she is.
Not because I'm jealous.
I'll be gone.
Because Oliver will still be there.
And Oliver deserves someone who sees him.*"*
Margaret folded the letter.
The room had narrowed.
I was aware of the guests behind me, the low sound of conversation that had resumed at the far tables, the clink of a glass.
All of it distant.
"She found the documents," I said.
"She found the folder," Margaret said.
"Whether she read everything in it, I don't know."
"It doesn't matter." I stood up slowly.
"She was in that room.
She never told me."
I turned.
Diana was still seated where I had left her.
She had picked up her wine glass.
She was watching me over the rim with an expression I recognized now — not warmth, not nerves.
Calculation.
"Nathan." She set the glass down and stood.
"Whatever that woman just told you, you need to think carefully before you—"
"Were you in the spare room?" I said.
"Two months before Emma passed."
A pause.
Short, but there.
"I was in your house many times that year.
You know that."
"That's not what I asked."
"I don't remember every room I—"
"The filing cabinet was open," I said.
"Emma's folder was on the floor.
She came home and found you there."
Diana's expression shifted.
The calculation gave way to something harder.
"Emma was sick," she said.
"She was on heavy medication.
She was confused about—"
"Don't." My voice came out low.
"Don't finish that sentence."
Oliver had moved slightly behind me.
I felt his hand find the back of my jacket.
Diana looked at him.
Something crossed her face that I couldn't name.
"You're making a scene," she said quietly.
"In front of your son.
In front of all these people.
Over a letter written by a woman who was dying and frightened and—"
"What were you looking for?" I said.
She didn't answer.
"Diana.
What were you looking for in that room?"
Her chin lifted slightly.
"I think we should finish this conversation privately."
"We'll finish it here."
She looked at the guests.
At her mother across the room, who had gone very still.
At Margaret, who had not moved from her chair.
Then she looked back at me.
"Fine," she said.
"You want the truth?
Yes.
I knew about the documents.
I knew what was in them.
And I knew that if they ever surfaced, they would destroy my family."
The room was quiet enough now that several people had stopped pretending.
"Your family," I said.
"Emma's father is my uncle," Diana said.
"Did she tell you that?
Did her letter mention that part?"
I looked at Margaret.
Margaret's face had gone pale.
May you like
"She didn't know," Margaret said quietly.
"Emma didn't know."
