I wanted so badly to tell you in person, with her sitting right beside me, and watch your face. I wanted that to be the last happy thing I gave you.
I ran out of time.
So I am giving her to you instead. To you, and to Lily, and to the baby.
You are not alone.
As long as you have each other, you are never alone.
That sentence is the only inheritance I have. It turns out it was the only one that mattered.
All my love. Every bit of it. Forever. — Jack.”
I looked up from the letter.
Grace was still standing in my doorway, crying as quietly as I was.
“You’re his sister,” I whispered.
“I’m his sister,” she said. “I folded him paper cranes when he was a baby and I was nine, because it was the only thing in the whole world I had to give him. And then they took me away in a county car, and I pressed my hand against the back window, and I spent the next forty years trying to find the little boy I lost.”
