Ava reached inside the sleeve of her gown and took out a folded sheet of paper. Claire covered her mouth with her hand, and I watched her shoulders tremble.
I felt the hurt rise in my throat.
“We found the notebook,” June said. “The one in the kitchen drawer.”
I shut my eyes and squeezed the camera until the plastic creaked beneath my grip. My mind went back to the gas receipt note, still tucked inside my wallet. I thought about Patricia and every birthday when I’d sat at that warped kitchen table with a pen, writing to three little girls who were already asleep.
Back then, I’d told myself they might read those words someday, or they might not, and either way, I’d written what needed to be written.
Then June began to read.
I closed my eyes.
“To my girls. You’re one-year-old today. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, and I don’t know if I’ll still be doing this right by then, but I wanted to write it down, anyway.” Something icy ran straight down my spine.
