“That’s not the question.
The question is why he kept you a secret.
Why he never said your name.
Not once.”
I looked at him.
“I think,” I said carefully, “that some things are too important to talk about.
Not because they’re shameful.
Because they’re so close to the center of you that putting them into words feels like a risk.
Like saying it out loud might make it smaller than it actually is.”
Daniel stared at me.
“He talked about you,” I said.
“In the hospital.
He talked about you every day.
He was so proud of you.”
Daniel sat back down.
He didn’t speak for a moment.
Then: “Mr.
Hale called me an hour ago.”
I waited.
“He said there’s something in the second letter that I need to hear before I make any decisions about the estate.” His eyes met mine.
“He said Thomas asked him to be present when I read it.
He wants to schedule it for tomorrow morning.”
The room was very quiet.
“Did he say anything else?” I asked.
“He said—” Daniel paused.
“He said Thomas described it as the last piece.
The thing that explains everything.”
I looked at the photograph still on the table between us.
Thomas at seventeen or eighteen, standing in front of a house, smiling like a man who already knew how the story ended.
“Will you be there?” Daniel asked.
“Tomorrow.
When I read it.”
I looked up at him.
“If you want me there,” I said.
