When we arrived, Clara wasn’t home, so Grandma Ruth called her from the car. Clara said she was at the store and told her to use the spare key under the flowerpot on the windowsill.
We let ourselves in, and once the door clicked shut behind us, I headed straight for Josh’s old study. Clara had always been strict about keeping us out of that room, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that if Josh had left anything behind, it would be there. Noah followed without a word.
The room still smelled faintly of Josh’s pipe tobacco. I went straight to the bottom drawer of his desk, the one Clara never touched because she said it was “his junk.”
Inside was a wooden box I’d seen as a kid but never opened.
“Eric, look at this.”
“Then why didn’t he tell us?”
Noah pulled out a folder filled with trust documents, our names on every page, and a bank account opened for us with monthly deposits going back to before Josh died.
“He was saving for us,” Noah said.
Underneath the folder were letters. Dozens of them. Some in Josh’s handwriting, some in a woman’s careful script I had never seen.
I opened one of Josh’s letters first. My eyes blurred halfway through.
“He knew,” I whispered. “He overheard Clara talking to Grandma Ruth years ago. He knew Mom didn’t abandon us.”
“Then why didn’t he tell us?”
The envelope on top wasn’t addressed to Clara.
“He says here he was scared. Scared of how Clara would treat us if we knew. He said he wanted to wait until we were 18 and give us the trust and the truth together.”
Noah sank into the chair. “And then he died first.”
I picked up the other letters, noticing the careful script and the hospital letterhead.
“These are from our mother,” I said. “She wrote to Clara. From the hospice.”
I unfolded the last one. The paper was soft from being held many times, then forgotten.
The envelope on top wasn’t addressed to Clara. It was addressed in shaky pen to “My beautiful boys.”
“I will come back for both of you.”
My hands shook so badly Noah had to steady them. I broke the seal slowly, like something sacred. Then I opened Mom’s final letter and read the first line.
“My beautiful boys, if you’re reading this, I am so sorry I couldn’t stay. Aunt Clara is going to take care of you for a little while, and I need you to be brave for me. When my treatment is over and I’m well again, I will come back for both of you. I love you more than anything in this world.”
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