“What?”
“He made me promise. Not before the funeral. Not a week later. The day after.”
She entered and closed the door.
The box was small, roughly the size of a hardback book. Its wood was dark and scratched around the edges.
“He gave me this after I came here,” she said. “I was supposed to open it only with you.”
“Can this wait until morning?”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“I have spent my whole life being someone’s secret. I cannot do it one more night.”
She sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath her weight.
Her fingers trembled around the box.
“You need to sit up properly,” she said.
“Grace, stop frightening me.”
“You have no idea what David did.”
My stomach tightened.
“You have no idea who he was. And I am sorry because you have been kind to me, but I am the one who has to break your heart.”
She placed the box between us.
