Inside was a newspaper clipping.
A photograph showed Thomas standing outside a community counseling center.
The article’s title read: Local Grief Counselor Retires After 40 Years of Service.
I stared at the photograph.
“A grief counselor?”
“Yes. Thomas spent most of his life helping families after loss.”
I looked back at the article.
“He never told me.”
“He almost never told anyone.”
The attorney folded the clipping again.
“He believed people listened better when they didn’t feel like they were being treated.”
I smiled through my tears.
That sounded exactly like Thomas.
Then the attorney reached into his desk drawer.
“I almost forgot.”
He set one final envelope on the table.
Two words were written across the front in Thomas’s handwriting.
“After Tuesday…”
“He asked me not to give you this until after his funeral.”
I didn’t open it there.
That evening, I took the envelope to the small park across from my apartment.
