Robert glanced back toward the reception hall, then lowered his voice. “Mom.”
I stared at him.
“I’m serious. I swear.”
“You’re saying Mom told you something… after she died?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Before.”
We stood near a row of coat racks, half concealed by tall plants. Guests passed by, smiling, unaware that my legs felt ready to give out beneath me.
“A lawyer called me this morning. I almost ignored it—I thought it was spam.”
“And?”
“He knew Mom’s name. Her illness. The exact day she died.”
My mouth went dry.
A chill traced its way down my spine.
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would she—”
“She found out,” Robert cut in.
“Found out what?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he pulled an envelope from inside his jacket—thick, cream-colored, sealed.
“She wrote this after she knew she was dying. She told him to hold onto it until the right moment.”
My gaze fixed on the envelope.
“The truth about Dad.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Dad stayed. He cared for her. He was there every day.”
“That’s what she believed too,” my brother said softly.
“Read it,” I whispered.
“I can’t. Not here. Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because once you know, there’s no going back.”
A burst of laughter erupted from inside. Someone called out my name.
“Claire! They’re about to cut the cake!”
I didn’t move.
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