“And dragging me into it.”
“Yes.”
When I returned home, Daniel was in the garage.
He had placed several cardboard boxes on the floor.
“What are those?”
“Rebecca’s things.”
I froze.
“You kept them?”
“All of them.”
“Where?”
“Storage unit.”
Of course.
Seventeen years married, and I hadn’t known my husband rented a storage unit.
“How many secrets are there?”
His face tightened.
“No more.”
“You understand why I don’t believe that.”
“Yes.”
One box contained photographs.
Another held notebooks.
Another hospital paperwork.
A faded blue sweater.
A coffee mug with WORLD’S OKAYEST SISTER printed across it.
Then I found an envelope.
My name was written on the front.
Emily.
My handwriting wasn’t there.
Neither was Daniel’s.
“What’s this?”
Daniel went pale.
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
He took the envelope from me, stared at it, then sat heavily on a wooden stool.
“I’ve never seen this.”
The handwriting belonged to Rebecca.
