“I’m going to give it all back,” I said. “Whatever is in the bag. Whatever Gloria left. Marcus can have it. I don’t want anyone thinking I married her for money.”
Sarah stared at me.
“That is exactly what Marcus wants.”
“Maybe he deserves it. He’s her blood.”
“So what?” Sarah said. “You were her family. I saw you with her every day.”
I did not answer.
I just kept folding towels.
That night, I sat on my bed with the bag in front of me.
I still had not opened it.
Somehow, unzipping it felt wrong. Like the moment I looked inside, I would prove Marcus right.
Then my phone buzzed.
It was Mr. Charleston.
“Daniel,” he said, “I didn’t get to finish at the funeral. Before you make any decision, please open the bag. Read the letter. Gloria planned for all of this.”
“Planned for what?”
“She knew Marcus would appear the moment he heard she was gone. She prepared for it. That was what I was trying to explain before he interrupted us. Please, Daniel. Open the bag.”
After the call ended, I stared at the zipper for a long time.
Then I pulled it open.
There was no money inside.
No jewelry.
No deeds.
No keys to safes.
Nothing I had braced myself to find.
There were letters.
Hundreds of them.
Some were yellowed and fragile, tied together with old ribbon. Some were dated back to 1972. Others were dated only a few months earlier.
There was also a small photograph, cracked along one edge, of a young woman holding a baby.
And on top of everything was a sealed envelope.
My name was written across the front in Gloria’s shaky handwriting.
I sat there for a long time before I reached for it.
Because some part of me already knew that whatever was inside that envelope would change everything.
