I found another set of car keys near the side door.
There was also a woman’s toothbrush in the small bathroom.
Then Marissa handed me a note.
“You should read this.”
The handwriting curled across the page.
It was written to Brian.
“I know this is hard, love, with your estranged wife dying. But once she’s finally moved into the care facility, we can stop hiding. I hate staying out of sight like this, but you’re right – the less she senses, the smoother it’ll be. I’ll be back from Portland Sunday night. Mom’s surgery is Thursday, so don’t call before then. Just a few more months. Penelope.”
The page shook between my fingers.
“He told her I was dying,” I said. My voice sounded unfamiliar. “He told her I was going into a home!”
Marissa wrapped one arm around my shoulders. “Gina. Breathe.”
I lowered myself onto the edge of the stranger’s bed and stared at the coat hanging by the door.
For one long minute, I allowed myself to feel all eleven years.
The white cane he had guided me with.
The meals he had cut into small pieces.
Every gentle instruction: “Let me get that for you.”
Every warning that the garage was too crowded and dangerous for me.
Then something inside me shifted.
I stood.
“Issa,” I said. “Take pictures of everything. The photos, the paperwork, the note, all of it.”
She blinked. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not going to break down or fall apart now. I can finally see, and I’m going to use that and be smarter than Brian ever thought I could be.”
