Watcher rested his chin on my shoe.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
Ethan had known I was hurting. Even while he was sick, he had been thinking about how to comfort me.
And somehow, he had also known that Marlene could not be trusted with everything.
I read another letter.
Then another.
One described a rainy afternoon when Ethan had watched birds from his hospital window. Another told me he wanted yellow flowers at his grave because they looked like “little pieces of sunshine.”
I had never received any of them.
Marlene had kept them hidden.
She arrived less than an hour later.
She stood at the entrance of the unit, her mascara streaked down her face.
“Diane, please.”
I did not look away from the letter in my hands.
“I only did it because I loved him.”
“You loved him,” I said quietly. “But you didn’t trust me to survive losing him.”
