“This is separate.”
I read the first page.
My name.
Then Emily’s.
“What is this?”
“A trust.”
I looked at him.
“Richard established it years ago.”
“How much?”
The lawyer gave me the figure.
I couldn’t speak.
It was enough to pay every debt.
Enough to secure Emily’s education.
Enough to ensure that neither of us would ever again wonder whether we had a roof over our heads.
“But why didn’t he tell me?”
The lawyer smiled sadly.
“Because he didn’t want you to stay with him out of gratitude.”
I covered my face.
And then he handed me one final letter.
My dear Nora,
If you’re reading this, then I have finally run out of time.
I’m sorry I kept the truth from you.
You may wonder why I never told you that I remembered you.
The answer is simple.
You spent your childhood being moved from one place to another by adults who made decisions about your life.
