He pulled out the folded card I had written that morning.
He handed it to me.
I opened it.
You are my favorite part of the morning. Be great today.
“You kept them?”
“All of them.”
I stared at him.
“All?”
“Every single one.”
“Edward, there are twelve years of notes.”
“I know.”
“Where?”
“My office.”
I stood up.
“I want to see them.”
He blinked.
“The notes?”
“Yes.”
He led me upstairs.
The second floor was filled with drafting tables, computers, models, and people working.
Several employees looked up as we passed.
And something about their expressions made me realize they knew exactly who I was.
Edward led me into an office in the far corner.
It was unmistakably his.
Architecture books lined the shelves.
Technical drawings covered one table.
The desk faced east, which immediately made sense because Edward had always loved morning light.
Then I noticed photographs.
