The date on the front wasn’t recent—it had been written decades ago.
I sat down, unsteady, the envelope heavier than it should have been. For a moment, I considered not opening it. But I couldn’t stop now.
I unfolded the paper. As I began reading, I could almost hear Eleanor’s voice.
“My dear, if you’re reading this, then I didn’t get the chance to tell you myself. There’s something from long before we got married. I should’ve told you. I wanted to many times. I just didn’t know how to say it without changing everything.”
My grip tightened.
“When I was 17, I found out I was pregnant.”
I stopped, reread the line, then continued.
“It happened after things ended with someone I thought I’d marry. He had moved on when I found out. My parents stood by me. My mother had a friend who couldn’t have children. We made a decision.”
