“The person I was protecting had children. If the truth came out, someone could have gone to prison.”
My chest tightened.
“You took the blame?”
“I knew your grandfather would never send me to prison. I was his daughter. I was raising you alone. You were only three.”
“Then why didn’t you tell the truth later?”
“I thought the truth would eventually come out on its own.”
It never did.
She had lost her family instead.
When I left Mom’s house, I knew two things.
My mother had sacrificed twenty-five years of her life to protect somebody.
And Grandma’s twelfth letter almost certainly contained the name.
The next evening, Uncle Robert called.
“Sweetheart, Susan told me you’ve been asking questions.”
“I have.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“This whole thing is tearing everyone apart.”
I hesitated.
“There’s one letter left.”
Silence.
“Grandma wrote ‘Read This Last’ on it.”
Robert’s voice changed immediately.
“Emily, don’t open it.”
“Why?”
“Look what the other letters have already done.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Your mother is hurting again. Everyone is fighting. Nancy is gone.”
Then came the sentence I would remember later.
