Chapter 4
Laura’s letters.
I stared at the message until the words blurred.
Rachel was the only person who knew about them.
Or so I thought.
Before Laura died, she had written birthday letters for Emma.
One for every year until eighteen.
She had been superstitious after losing her mother young.
“I know it’s dramatic,” she told me once, sealing the envelopes. “But if something happens, I want her to hear me.”
After Laura died, the box disappeared.
I thought I had misplaced it during the chaos.
I tore the house apart.
I cried in the attic.
I blamed grief.
Then Karen helped me stop looking.
“Maybe Laura never finished them,” she said gently.
I had believed her.
Now my hands shook as I called the unknown number.
No answer.
Rachel came over with my parents the next morning.
Emma stayed with my mother in the kitchen, making pancakes.
I showed Rachel the message.
Her face went white.
“She knew?”
“Apparently someone does.”
We searched again.
This time, not Karen’s office.
Her locked storage cabinet in the garage.
Anthony had permission through the court order to secure my property.
The key was taped under Karen’s desk drawer.
Inside the cabinet were boxes.
Receipts.
Old photos.
A bottle of Laura’s perfume.
My stomach turned.
Then I saw it.
A white wooden box with blue ribbon.
Laura’s handwriting on top.
For Emma.
I dropped to my knees.
Rachel said my name, but I barely heard her.
I opened the lid.
Letters.
All there.
Eight had been opened.
Emma’s fifth.
Sixth.
Seventh.
Eighth.
Karen had read them.
And hidden them.
At the bottom was a small notebook.
Karen’s.
She had copied phrases from Laura’s letters.
Then twisted them into things to say to Emma.
Mommy wanted you brave.
Mommy hated whining.
Mommy would be ashamed if she saw you cry.
I nearly broke the notebook in half.
Rachel took it from my hands.
“No. Evidence.”
I hated that she was right.
The unknown number called back that afternoon.
A woman’s voice.
“My name is Megan. I used to work with Karen.”
“Why message me?”
“She bragged about the letters.”
My throat closed.
“What?”
“She said your dead wife was still controlling the house. She said she found a way to use her voice against the kid.”
I sat down.
Rachel grabbed my shoulder.
Megan continued.
“I didn’t know she was hurting Emma. I swear. I thought she was just cruel and insecure. Then I saw the news.”
“What else do you know?”
“She talked about making Emma look unstable. She said once you agreed to adoption, Laura would be gone for good.”
I closed my eyes.
Laura would be gone for good.
No.
No, she would not.
That evening, I sat Emma on my parents’ sofa.
Rachel sat beside me.
The wooden box rested on the coffee table.
Emma stared at it.
“What is that?”
I swallowed.
“Something Mommy Laura made for you.”
Her eyes widened.
“My mommy?”
“Yes.”
I opened the box and handed her the letter marked Eight.
The real one.
Unstained.
Unchanged.
Emma held it carefully.
“Can you read it?”
My voice broke twice.
Rachel finished when I couldn’t.
Laura’s words filled the room.
My brave Emma, if you are reading this, you are eight now, which means you are officially old enough to correct Daddy’s terrible pancakes.
Emma laughed through tears.
At the end, Laura had written:
You never have to be quiet to be loved. Your feelings are welcome. Your tears are welcome. You are welcome.
Emma pressed the letter to her chest.
“Karen said Mommy didn’t like crying.”
I kissed her hair.
“Karen lied.”
Emma looked at Laura’s box.
May you like
“Can I keep them?”
“They were always yours.”
