Then I saw the envelope wedged in the mailbox flag.
No stamp. Hand-delivered.
My body went alert all over again.
Marcus appeared on his porch the second my headlights hit the curb. He crossed over before I was out of the car.
“I grabbed camera footage,” he said quietly. “She came by about forty minutes ago. Stayed at the sidewalk. Didn’t cross the line.”
“Who?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.
I took the envelope from the mailbox using two fingers. My name was written across the front in my mother’s hand.
Inside was a single sheet of stationery.
Rowan, before other people twist this further, you deserve to hear the truth from me. Your grandfather was not the man you think he was. There are things he did that would break your heart. Meet me tomorrow at ten, Cathedral Park, and I will tell you everything.
No apology.
