“Did you love her?”
It was a difficult question.
But after forty-one years of unanswered ones, difficult questions felt like a luxury.
Douglas didn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
The answer hurt.
And strangely, it also healed something.
“I loved her differently,” he said. “But truly.”
I nodded.
“Good.”
He studied me.
“Good?”
“Yes.”
I wiped my cheek.
“If you couldn’t be with me, I’m glad your whole life wasn’t miserable.”
His eyes closed for a moment.
“When Margaret discovered that your letter was fake, she cried harder than I did.”
I frowned.
“How did she discover it?”
Lucas reached into the suitcase.
“Because your mother contacted her.”
I stopped breathing.
“When?”
“1998.”
My mother had contacted Margaret twelve years after destroying my letters to Douglas.
“Why?”
“No one knows for certain.”
Lucas handed me another letter.
This one wasn’t addressed to Douglas.
It was addressed to:
MRS. MARGARET HALE
