“Doctor?”
He gestured to the couch. “Please. Sit down.”
William sat across from me and pulled out a folder. “Your daughter was diagnosed with stage four cancer a year ago.”
Everything inside me went very still. “What?”
“She came to me after she started experiencing symptoms. We ran tests. It was aggressive. She had less than a year.”
I couldn’t speak.
“She started experiencing symptoms.”
“She bought those gifts for her children over the course of several months. She wanted them to have something from her for every important moment in their lives.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” I whispered.
“She wanted to. But she said you’d already survived too much—losing your husband, raising her alone. She couldn’t make you watch her fade too.”
A tight ache spread through my chest, stealing my breath.
“She asked me to send the package a week before Lily’s birthday. So you’d have time to prepare,” William added.
“She couldn’t make you watch her fade too.”
I looked up at him. “Lily’s birthday is next week.”
“I know. That’s why I sent it to you.”
He then handed me a small box.
“She wanted you to have this.”
I opened it. Inside was a locket. Gold. Delicate. I opened it. Inside was a photo.
The kids hugging me. Taken last summer at the lake. All of us smiling. Darla had been behind the camera.
I broke down completely.
He then handed me a small box.
William sat quietly while I cried.
Finally, I wiped my eyes. “Did her husband know?”
William shook his head. “No. She hadn’t told him. She planned to divorce him when they got back. He didn’t know any of it. And the crash ended everything before she could say a word.”
***
I drove home in a daze, wondering why Darla would want me to have the package instead of her husband, when he was still alive, before the crash.
It didn’t make sense. Unless there was something else. Something she hadn’t told William.
“He didn’t know any of it.”
When I got home, I sat in my car for 10 minutes, gripping the steering wheel.
Then I made another decision. I was going to find out the whole truth. No matter what it took.
I owed Darla that much.
I read the letter again. At the very bottom, in small handwriting, was one more line:
“It’s better for some truths to remain buried. Take care of the kids, Mom.”
What did that mean?
I was going to find out the whole truth.
I dragged the box to my bedroom and locked the door. Then I went to pick up the kids.
That night, I tried to act normal.
I made dinner. Helped with homework. Read bedtime stories.
But my mind was racing.
I kept replaying everything William had said. Everything Darla had written.
Something was missing. Some piece I hadn’t found yet.
