Chapter 14 - The Letter I Couldn't Read
The officer was alive. The shot had struck his vest, leaving him stunned and bruised. Adrian had escaped into the woods, but his car had been recovered along the river two miles away. Whether he was alone was anybody's guess.
At the safe house, I sat beside a lamp and finally opened Mom's letter. She'd written it on ordinary notebook paper, creased twice, with a grocery list on the back. I could picture her tearing it out while waiting for the kettle to boil.
Claire, it began. If you're reading this, somebody has probably made the story simpler than it was. Don't let them.
She wrote about the ugly compromise Dad had made to keep the hospital programs funded. He'd known some vendors were suspicious and kept signing checks because the clinic wing depended on their donations. She'd confronted him. He'd promised to fix it. She had not believed promises were enough.
Then the letter changed.
I love your father, but love doesn't erase what we choose. I hope he tells you the truth without asking you to forgive him first. And when you meet someone who makes your world smaller, please don't mistake staying for loyalty.
I read that line three times.
At the bottom she mentioned a second cassette hidden behind the crane mural at the hospital, not in the basement but in the public children's wing. It held her final conversation with Margaret.
Dad sat across from me, waiting. I gave him the letter. He read it slowly, then pressed it to his chest.
"I don't want an apology," I said. "I want you to testify. All of it. Even your part."
He nodded, tears sliding quietly into his beard. "I will."
Ruth's phone buzzed. She read the message and turned pale.
"The children's wing was evacuated twenty minutes ago," she said. "Someone called in a gas leak. The cameras show Dr. Shaw walking out with a blue tote bag."
May you like
The second tape was gone.
THE DOORS SHE OPENED •
