“What did she say?”
Douglas gave a faint, sad smile.
“She said she had always known there was a room in my heart she could never enter. She didn’t blame you. She blamed me for pretending the room didn’t exist.”
I turned around.
“Where is she now?”
“She died six years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
For several seconds, none of us spoke.
Then I noticed the folded paper beneath the photographs.
“What is that?”
Douglas looked at it.
“That’s the reason I asked you to come.”
Lucas returned the photographs to the box and handed me the paper.
It was not a letter. It was a legal document, several pages stapled together. At the top was the name of a local attorney’s office. Beneath it was a date from three months earlier.
I skimmed the first page, confused.
“What am I looking at?”
“My mother’s estate records,” Douglas said.
