Chapter 10 - Robert’s Desk
Victoria wouldn’t hand over the key in the lobby.
So Sarah drove to the house where she’d grown up.
Daniel came with us.
Victoria followed in her own car.
Robert’s study looked exactly as it had the week after his funeral.
Golf books. Reading glasses. A framed photograph of Sarah at graduation.
I remembered him standing outside our college apartment, carrying a toolbox because Sarah had mentioned a loose cabinet door.
He hadn’t been dramatic about love.
He just showed up with the right screwdriver.
Sarah stood behind his desk.
“Open it.”
Victoria stayed by the doorway.
“You’re searching a dead man’s private papers.”
“It was his wish that I have his personal things.”
“And I kept them safe.”
“Then give me the key.”
For a long moment, neither moved.
Finally, Victoria placed it on the desk.
The bottom drawer contained insurance folders, an old camera, and a large envelope marked SARAH.
Her name was in Robert’s handwriting.
Sarah sat down before opening it.
Inside were copies of adoption documents and a letter dated nine months before his death.
She read silently.
Then she handed it to Daniel.
His face darkened.
“What?” I asked.
Sarah answered in a whisper.
“He found out.”
Robert had discovered letters from Thomas in a box Victoria had moved out of storage.
He had been told Thomas wanted no contact.
He had believed Sarah knew her biological father was alive but had no wish to discuss him.
By the time he understood those were two different lies, his illness had worsened.
His letter wasn’t polished.
It was angry in places. Crossed out in others.
I should have asked better questions.
I accepted answers because they made our life easier.
You deserved more courage from me.
Sarah pressed her fist against her mouth.
There was one final paragraph.
I have asked your mother to tell you with me here.
If she cannot, I will.
Whatever happens, loving him does not take anything away from loving me.
Sarah looked at Victoria.
“He was going to tell me.”
“He was very sick.”
“You let him die before he could.”
“That is an ugly thing to say.”
Sarah lifted the letter.
“Did he know I never got this?”
Victoria’s eyes filled.
But she didn’t answer.
Sarah looked back into the envelope.
There was another page.
A handwritten note.
May you like
Thomas Hale. Thursday. 3 p.m.
Beneath it was an address above a laundromat.
