He stood up.
At the door, he stopped and turned around.
“Mom. I’m sorry. I should have told you a long time ago.”
“Go,” I said. “Before I lose my nerve.”
Daniel came back at nine o’clock that night.
Thomas and Sarah had gone home. The nurse had given me something for the pressure, and the room was quiet except for the beeping of the IV pump.
Daniel came in carrying a cardboard file box. The old kind, from the office supply store, with handles cut into the sides. Dust on the lid.
And in his other hand, the envelope.Study Anatomy
He set the box on the chair and handed me the envelope.
I held it in my lap. Twelve years. The paper had gone a little yellow at the corners.
“Do you want me to leave?” Daniel asked.
“No,” I said. “Stay.”
But I didn’t open it yet. I couldn’t. My hands wouldn’t do it.
