“Mom, what does this mean?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know.”
There was another envelope at the bottom of the box.
This one was sealed.
My name was written on the front.
I recognized the handwriting, but the date made my heart pound.
It had been written the day before Samuel died.
I opened it.
Inside was a letter.
My dearest Eleanor,
I have spent the last two weeks trying to find the courage to tell you the truth.
The doctor at the clinic told us that the cyst needed further investigation. I know she did. I was sitting beside you when she explained it.
But there is something I have not told you.
When you went to the bathroom before we left the clinic, I asked the doctor whether the cyst might prevent us from having another child. I know how selfish that sounds now. I was so focused on my own wish that I forgot what you had just been told.
