Richie and I shared a glance.
“Maybe later,” I replied. “Let’s just get through today first.”
The rest of the day felt endless.
I tied shoes, braided hair, wiped jam from sticky faces, and reread the letter so many times the ink smeared beneath my thumb. Every time I folded it shut, the knot in my stomach tightened.
That evening, while the girls watched TV and Richie stirred spaghetti on the stove, I stood at the window, staring at the twisted branches of the apple tree.
He came up quietly behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “If you want, Tanya, I’ll be there. You don’t have to do this alone.”
I leaned back into him.
“I just need answers, Rich. He was always so kind. Every Christmas he’d leave an envelope of cash so we could spoil the girls with candy.”
“Then we’ll figure out what he left you. Together, if that’s what you want.”
He kissed the top of my head before going back to serve dinner.
I felt slightly steadier.
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. I wandered the house in restless circles, pausing at the back window. My reflection stared back at me—brown hair pulled into a thinning ponytail, tired eyes, pajama pants sagging at the knees.
I didn’t look like someone ready to dig up buried truths.
I remembered something my mother used to tell me:
“You can’t hide what you are, Tanya. Eventually, everything finds its way to the surface.”
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