My elderly neighbor died — after his funeral, I received a letter from him that said: “You must dig up the secret in my yard that I’ve been hiding from you for 40 years. You deserve to know the truth.”

Inside was twenty dollars and a small note:

“For candy for the girls.”

We weren’t close.

But we were good neighbors.

Then, a few days ago, Mr. Whitmore died.

Since he had no family nearby, I helped organize the funeral. Only a handful of people came — a few neighbors, the pastor, and the funeral director.

The service was quiet and short.

Afterward, everyone went home, and life seemed ready to return to normal.

But two days later I found a sealed envelope in my mailbox.

My name was written across the front.

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