I opened the letter.
Dear Emmy,
If you’re reading this, I finally ran out of time. That’s all right. I got more than I expected. Three years ago, I was sitting in a room in Vermont thinking nobody was ever coming back for me. Then you showed up.
I want you to know something. That day at your wedding, when I stopped in the middle of the aisle, you were angry at me. I saw it. You had a plan, and I ruined it.
I’m not sorry. I’d do it again.
Here’s why. You spent your whole life being told to wait. Wait your turn. Wait for the truth to come out the right way. Wait until it’s convenient for everybody else. You were so good at waiting. Too good.
I wanted three hundred people to hear the truth said out loud, just once, on a day that belonged to you. Not in a courtroom. Not in a lawyer’s file. In a church, with your mother sitting there, so she couldn’t pretend she didn’t hear it.
