Laughing at something outside the frame.
I didn’t remember anyone taking the picture.
In the corner was the charity’s faded logo.
Russell had kept a photograph of me from the night we met.
Marlene scoffed.
“There. Daddy’s final romantic gesture. Can we move on now?”
My fingers were trembling as I unfolded the letter.
Russell’s handwriting covered the page.
Neat.
Careful.
Familiar.
The moment I saw it, grief rose so quickly inside me that I struggled to breathe.
“What does it say?” Marlene asked.
I kept reading.
My vision blurred.
“What does it say?” she demanded again.
She reached toward the letter.
The attorney stopped her.
“That letter is private.”
Marlene pulled her hand back.
“Fine. Then read the will.”
The attorney opened a sealed envelope.
Marlene leaned back as if she already knew the ending.
Then he started reading.
Within minutes, her expression changed.
Part 8 — “This Can’t Be Right”
At first, I barely listened.
