Inside were both letters, the ultrasound photo with purple hearts, the journal, and the tiny baby shoes.
“I think it’s time,” Dorothy said.
Margot reached first for the ultrasound picture, smiling through sudden tears.
“She drew on it,” she whispered.
“Your mother believed all important documents benefited from color,” Dorothy said.
Bridget took the first letter and read aloud in a voice so steady it broke Dorothy’s heart more than crying would have.
I know how this looks…
I found the texts…
Fight for them, Mom…
The words passed into evening air that no longer belonged only to grief. They belonged to inheritance.
Then Theodore read the second letter, the one that began with If you are reading this, the babies are safe…
By the time he reached I told them you make the best apple pie in New Jersey, Dorothy laughed and cried at the same time.
When the reading ended, no one spoke for a while.
The yard hummed with crickets. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked. The Collie House stood in the oak tree, weathered now but still sturdy.
Finally Margot wiped her cheeks and said, “She knew exactly who you were.”