Melissa asked me, “Is Aunt Karen bad?”
I told her, “She made bad choices because she was afraid.”
David asked, “Did Dad know?”
I answered, “I think he knew enough to leave us the truth.”
Last night, Miriam brought me one final thing from Jack’s locker. A folded note.
One sentence.
If you’re reading this, you were braver than I ever wanted you to have to be.
I sat on the kitchen floor crying until my chest physically hurt.
So that is where I am now.
Widow. Mother. Witness.
And the thought I cannot stop returning to is this: Karen held my hand at the funeral because she understood exactly what had been placed in mine.
She just understood it before I did.
