“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Did Dad really think I was in danger?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me about the calls?”
“Because he asked me not to. He said you deserved one part of your life untouched by fear.”
Michael looked toward the empty doors.
“He made that decision for me.”
“He did.”
“Were you angry with him?”
“Every day for years.”
“Are you still?”
Clara considered the question.
“I was angry at the silence. I was angry that he thought suffering alone was the same as protecting us. But I am not angry that he loved you.”
Michael looked at her then.
His eyes were wet.
“I miss him.”
Clara placed her hand against the back of his neck.
“I know.”
He folded into her shoulder, exactly as he had when he was a boy. She held him beneath the crystal chandeliers while the last guests departed, while the flowers wilted in their vases, while the wedding that never happened became the day they finally told the truth.
Daniel waited near the doors.
When Michael raised his head, Daniel approached with the envelope.
“There is one more thing,” he said.
Clara stiffened.
Daniel handed her a folded letter.
“It was not in the envelope. I found it in the archive file this morning.”
Clara recognized William’s handwriting before she opened it.
Her fingers shook.
“Why didn’t you give me this first?”
