“The thing under the floor.”
Noah pointed downward.
“Mommy star.”
“What star?”
Noah touched his own shirt near his heart.
Ethan remembered.
Rachel had owned a tiny gold pendant shaped like an eight-pointed star.
She wore it on a short chain.
It had been one of the few pieces of jewelry recovered after the crash.
At least Ethan thought it had.
He had not seen it since the police returned Rachel’s belongings.
His mother had organized everything.
Ethan kissed Noah’s forehead.
“I’m coming back.”
He went downstairs.
Vivian was standing beside the broken floorboards.
The black box remained where he had left it.
She had not touched it.
That should have reassured him.
It did not.
Ethan picked up the envelope.
“Last chance.”
Vivian frowned.
“For what?”
“To tell me why you’re afraid.”
“I’m not.”
Ethan stared at her.
“Then sit down.”
She did.
He opened the envelope.
Inside were four pages.
Rachel’s handwriting covered both sides.
The date at the top made Ethan’s hands go numb.
October 11.
Two days before she died.
He began reading.
Ethan,
If you are reading this because I finally found the courage to put it in your hands myself, then ignore everything that follows and be angry with me for being dramatic.
But if you found this without me, there is something I need you to understand before anyone explains it for me.
Ethan stopped.
He looked at Vivian.
His mother stared at the floor.
He continued.
I am not leaving you.
I am not having an affair.
I am not trying to take Noah away from you.
If someone tells you any of those things, ask why they need you to believe them.
Ethan’s vision blurred.
For almost two years, there had been one part of Rachel’s death he had never discussed outside therapy.
Six weeks before the crash, she changed.
She became secretive.
She left the house without explaining where she was going.
She changed the password on her laptop.
Twice, Ethan saw messages appear on her phone from someone saved only as M.
Then, three days before she died, Vivian showed him something.
Printed emails.
Rachel to a man named Marcus Dean.
The messages looked intimate.
Not explicitly sexual.
Worse, somehow.
Emotional.
I wish things were different.
I’m almost ready.
I just need to know Noah will be safe.
Ethan had confronted Rachel.
She denied an affair.
She refused to explain Marcus.
They had the worst argument of their marriage.
Rachel slept in the guest room.
Two days later she left the house.
The following night, her car went off a rural road during heavy rain.
For two years Ethan had carried grief tangled with anger.
He had buried a woman he loved while wondering whether she had been planning to abandon him.
Now her letter said the opposite.
His voice shook.
“Mom.”
Vivian remained silent.
“You gave me those emails.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get them?”
“Rachel’s computer.”
“You said she left it open.”