“If you’re reading this, please don’t punish Liam.”
I pressed the letter to my chest.
“We have a granddaughter,” John whispered.
I grabbed my phone.
“Camila,” he said. “Wait.”
“No. I’m calling Liam.”
“Don’t call him like you’re about to put him on trial.”
The words hit because they sounded like Livia.
“We have a granddaughter.”
I stared at the phone until my breathing slowed. Then I called.
Liam answered on the second ring.
“Mom?”
I looked at the torn beanbag, the dress, the letters, and the baby I had never held.
“Come home,” I said.
The line went quiet.
“You know what I found,” I said.
I looked at the torn beanbag.
He didn’t answer.
He arrived just after dark. His backpack slid off his shoulder.
“You knew she was alive?” I asked.
His eyes filled. “Yes.”
I slapped the letters against his chest.
“You let me bury her every day.”
