I flip the envelope over and stare at it like I’m expecting it to do something. I should toss it out. Whatever it says won’t change anything. Brandondoesn’t matter. He’s dead, and my life is moving forward. It shouldn’t matter. But it does.
If we just had a bad relationship and he died, I could let it go. Or, at the very least, the letter might be a nice remembrance, not something I’m clinging to with desperation. If I hadn’t discovered a mountain of lies after his death—a mountain of lies hemeantfor me to discover after his death—then maybe I could just dismiss the letter as him getting in the last word the way he did when we argued.
I know Tate doesn’t understand why I didn’t toss the letter out, especially after finding the creepy scene in the basement, but... What I saw. It can’t be what it looked like. It just can’t be. Brandon would never... But how do I know what Brandon would or wouldn’t do? He bought the house, a house he knew I wanted, and hid it from me. He also left me more money than I ever dreamed of.
Done arguing with myself, I slip my finger under the corner of the envelope and tear it open.
My Dearest Evelyn,
If you're reading this, I am likely dead. Please forgive me. I have not been the husband you deserve. Those are my shortcomings, not yours, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t love you deeply.
I have a lot to tell you, but I’ll do my best to keep it brief. After we planned to divorce and set an approximate date, I realized that wasn’t what I wanted. I recommitted myself to you and our family, whether it showed or not.
Maybe my new and improved outlook changed my luck, but something wonderful happened. One of the stocks I invested in took off. We went from workingclass, living paycheck to paycheck, to very wealthy overnight. I never told you because I wanted to do something big to surprise you, to show you how much I appreciate you. You deserve much more than the life I gave you.
Things did change. I’m not crazy. A heaviness I don’t expect settles on my chest. The tears filling my eyes are also a surprise.
For years, I kept our dream house on alert. It went on the market, and I knew that was going to be my special gift to you. I sensed the sellers were desperate, and I was right. The rest of the money went into the insurance policies to make sure you and Gemma would be well taken care of in the event something happened to me.
This explains where the money came from. But I still don’t understand why he didn’t tell me.
A little over a year ago, I was contacted by a woman, Vivian Shafer, claiming to be my sister. I met with her a few times and had an investigator dig into her past, along with us both taking a DNA test. She is indeed my sister. Again, I should’ve told you, but she begged for secrecy. Her son-in-law is bad news. He’s threatened to kill my niece Zana and their three-year-old daughter Gigi so she can’t testify against him in a murder trial.
He was out on bail walking the streets and posed a real threat to my niece and great-niece. I hope you meet them. Gigi is sweet and beautiful and reminds me of Gemma when she was that age. I regret not having more children. That was selfish, and I know it was on me.
Zana needed someplace to stay that was off the radar, and I had the means to hide her. They’ve been living in the basement ever since, and her husband is still out there. Which means I couldn’t have you or Gemma going in and out of the house because it could put you both in danger. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
I don’t care if you sell the house, but if you do, please make sure Zana and Gigi have someplace to go and are not in danger. They will be notified about my death and have been instructed not to return to the house, so it is safe for you, but you should be able to reach them through my lawyer. As for the money, enjoy it. Invest in something that makes you happy. This is your time, I only regret that I’m not there to share it with you. You are my heart.
Sincerely,
Brandon
Tears stream down my cheeks as I read the letter over and over. “Thank you,” I choke out, clutching the letter to my chest. It doesn’t change the facts of our marriage, but at least I know I wasn’t living with my head buried in the sand. “Thank you so much!” Whatever I thought we had was real.
Chapter 18
Tate
The second Eve’s door opens, I hand her a bouquet of flowers. With a smile, she brings them to her nose and breathes in the sweet fragrance.
“Why the flowers? Aren’t we going away?”
“So?” I shrug. “They’ll be here waiting when you come home.”
