“On what grounds?”
“You’re eighty-two! How can anyone know you were thinking clearly?”
Grandma smiled.
“That’s why the documents were prepared months ago, reviewed independently, and signed with my attorney and physician present.”
Vanessa opened her mouth.
Grandma continued.
“And the transfer of my shares was completed before this party began.”
My father’s face turned pale.
The room fell silent.
Then Grandma looked at me.
“Daniel, there’s one final thing Nora asked me to give you.”
She reached beneath the leather folder.
This time, she removed a small white envelope.
My name was written across the front.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My chest tightened.
It was Nora’s.
I held the envelope for a long time before opening it.
I had kept everything she left behind.
Her favorite sweater.
The little notes she used to leave in my lunch bag.
A grocery list written on the morning she died.
Sometimes I took that list out just to look at her handwriting.
Now there was a letter I had never seen.
A letter she had written knowing I might someday read it without her.
Grandma reached across the table.
“You can read it privately.”
I shook my head.
“It’s okay.”
But as I opened the envelope, I realized it wasn’t okay.
Nothing about that night felt okay.
Inside were three folded pages.
The first sentence nearly broke me.
My dearest Daniel, if you’re reading this, then there are things I should have found the courage to tell you while I was alive.
I stopped.
My vision blurred.
I could almost hear her voice.
I remembered the way she used to sit cross-legged on our bed, reading novels with a pencil tucked behind her ear.
The way she laughed when Lily called her “the smartest mommy in the universe.”
The way she held my face in both hands whenever I doubted myself.
I wiped my eyes and continued.
Nora explained how she had discovered the disputed research.
How she had contacted Grandma.
How she had spent years developing her own technology.
She admitted that she’d known who I was when we met.
