Not heartbreak.
Anger.
Like she had forgotten she was supposed to be mourning.
My brother crossed his arms.
“Funny.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“For six years, you told everyone you were the only person who truly cared about Dad.”
His voice was cold.
“But now you’re upset because he wanted to tell us something privately?”
Her face hardened.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No,” my brother replied.
“We don’t.”
He looked at the folder.
“But apparently Dad did.”
The funeral director opened the documents.
The first page was simple.
A letter.
Written in my father’s handwriting.
I knew that handwriting immediately.
I had seen it on birthday cards.
On notes he left on the kitchen counter.
On the last Christmas card he gave me.
My hands started shaking.
The funeral director looked at us.
“Your father wanted this read aloud.”
Then he unfolded the letter.
And the first sentence made Vanessa gasp.
“My children, if you are hearing this, then I am no longer here to protect you from the truth.”
Nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
The funeral director continued.
“I know many people will have questions about my marriage to Vanessa. I know some of you believed I was lonely. Some believed I was foolish. Some believed I didn’t understand what was happening around me.”
My eyes filled with tears.
Because that sounded exactly like my father.
Proud until the end.
The letter continued.
“But I want my children to know one thing.”
The funeral director paused.
Then read the next line.
“I was never unaware.”
Vanessa’s face went pale again.
The room became completely silent.
My father had known.
He had known what everyone was whispering.
He had known what we suspected.
And then came the sentence that made Vanessa stand up.
“Vanessa did not marry me because she loved me.”
A shocked murmur moved through the room.
Vanessa immediately interrupted.
“That is enough.”
