PART 1
“They still have no idea, Mom. Twenty years have passed, and they believed EVERY story I ever told them.”
I stood completely still.
For a moment, I wondered whether I had heard her correctly.
The bouquet of lilies shook in my hand.
Grandma Rose replied in a hushed voice.
“Lower your voice, Beatrice.”
“Oh, honestly.” Beatrice chuckled. “Neither of them is here. Simon hasn’t come by in nearly three years, and Mason only visits whenever he starts feeling guilty.”
My grip tightened around the bouquet’s wrapping.
She meant me.
I remained in the hallway of the home where I had spent nearly my entire childhood, standing behind the wall between the living room and kitchen.
Twenty years.
They believed every story I told them.
My heart pounded so fiercely that I worried they might actually hear it.
Grandma Rose let out a sigh.
“This isn’t something you should laugh about.”
“I’m completely serious.”
“You gave your word.”
“And I honored it, didn’t I?”
Glass clinked softly.
Beatrice was likely serving herself some wine. That was her usual habit whenever Grandma Rose came over.
Then I heard Beatrice again.
“They became adults. They’ve done well. Nobody ever showed up searching for them. Everything happened just as Kenneth had planned.”
Kenneth.
My dad.
The man who had read Simon and me bedtime stories every evening.
The man who always said we meant everything to him.
The man whose absence I had grieved for seventeen years.
I moved nearer to the doorway.
Grandma Rose’s tone grew firmer.
“Don’t blame Kenneth for this. He intended to tell them.”
Beatrice stopped speaking.
I remained silent too.
Finally, she replied, “Someday.”
“He planned to tell them after their eighteenth birthday.”
“And how would that have helped anyone?”
“They had a right to know.”
“Know exactly what?”
Beatrice pushed her chair across the kitchen tiles.
“That their mother never abandoned them?”
My stomach twisted.
The lilies shifted in my trembling hand.
I steadied them before they could fall.
Suddenly, every ordinary noise inside the house seemed to fade away.
The refrigerator.
The aging wall clock.
The distant sound of passing cars.
Everything.
Only one sentence remained in my thoughts.
Their mother never abandoned them.
Grandma Rose murmured, “Beatrice…”
“No. You’ve been bringing this up for years. We might as well finally discuss it openly. Their beloved birth mother never left them at an orphanage. She never vanished. She never chose another man instead of them. She never overlooked their birthdays.”
My legs felt unsteady.
Beatrice went on, her voice carrying an unmistakable note of frustration.
“She wanted her children.”
I placed my palm against the wall.
An old childhood memory suddenly returned.
I was seven.
Simon and I sat together at the kitchen table, completing an assignment about our family history.
I had asked Beatrice whether she knew our birth mother’s name.
She shut a cupboard with such force that the dishes inside made a rattling sound.
“Why should that matter?” she’d replied. “She never wanted you.”
That evening, I cried beneath my blanket, hiding my tears from Simon.
For years afterward, whenever I noticed a brown-haired woman with gray eyes, I wondered whether she might be our mother.
Eventually, those thoughts faded.
At least, that was what I told myself.
Grandma Rose spoke once more.
“Think about what those boys went through.”
Beatrice dismissed her concern.
“Oh, stop making everything so dramatic.”
“You convinced them their mother had abandoned them.”
“It made things simpler.”
“Simpler for whom?”
Neither spoke.
Then Beatrice answered with words that left me deeply unsettled.
“For everyone involved.”
I moved back slightly.
My shoe brushed against the little table near the entrance.
The wrapped birthday present began sliding from under my arm.
I grabbed it.
Just in time.
By now, my hands were trembling uncontrollably.
I should have entered the kitchen immediately.
I should have asked them to explain everything.
Instead, I remained out of sight.
Something inside me warned that if Beatrice discovered my presence now, she would invent another explanation.
And for once, I needed to know what she would reveal when she believed nobody else could hear.
Grandma Rose spoke more softly.
“She returned.”
“Yes.”
“Several times.”
“Yes.”
“And you refused to see her.”
A brief silence.
“Yes.”
Tears clouded my vision.
I fixed my gaze on the wallpaper opposite me.
Small blue blossoms.
Beatrice had selected that wallpaper when Simon and I were six.
She had scolded me sharply when I reached toward the wallpaper paste.
“You always make a mess of everything,” she’d said.
Now I could recall every word.
Clearly.
Painfully.
Grandma Rose continued speaking.
“You allowed those boys to think she never made an effort.”
Beatrice gave another laugh, although her confidence seemed to be fading.
“They were little kids. What did you expect? Should I have sat down with two six-year-olds and explained complicated grown-up matters?”
“You had years to explain the truth once they were older.”
“And turn their worlds upside down?”
“Keeping the secret hurt them too.”
“Nobody was hurt.”
I almost let out a laugh.
Nobody?
Simon had devoted years to acting as though our origins meant nothing to him.
At sixteen, he’d gotten into trouble at school after another student called us unwanted.
I had spent countless birthdays wondering whether our biological mother still remembered when we were born.
Nobody was hurt?
Beatrice couldn’t understand the lasting impact of her choices.
Or perhaps she understood perfectly.
Perhaps it simply didn’t matter to her.
Grandma Rose broke the silence.
“Kenneth would be deeply disappointed in you.”
That seemed to change everything.
A glass landed sharply on the table.
“Don’t you say that.”
“He cared deeply about those boys.”
“And so did I.”
I was seconds away from entering the kitchen.
But Grandma Rose spoke first.
“No, Beatrice. You merely put up with them.”
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, Beatrice replied, “I provided a home for them.”
“That home came from Kenneth.”
“I was married to him!”
“And you resented those children from their very first day here.”
I shut my eyes.
Suddenly, countless childhood memories began taking on entirely different meanings.
Beatrice’s irritation whenever Kenneth surprised us with gifts.
Their disagreements behind closed doors.
That afternoon when I heard her exclaim, “This wasn’t what we agreed on!”
Back then, Simon and I assumed they were arguing over household expenses.
Perhaps we had misunderstood.
Grandma Rose softened her voice once more.
“You were jealous.”
Beatrice remained quiet.
“You felt jealous of two young boys.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Really?”
“Kenneth hardly paid attention to me after they came.”
“He was focused on helping them feel secure.”
“He acted as though they were extraordinary blessings.”
“Perhaps that’s exactly what they were to him.”
“But they weren’t to me.”
Her words affected me more deeply than I expected.
They weren’t to me.
There it was.
The explanation behind every uncomfortable family dinner.
Every school occasion she missed.
Every forgotten birthday celebration.
Every lecture about how thankful we ought to be.
I struggled to swallow.
Grandma Rose asked, “Have you kept those letters?”
My eyes opened immediately.
Letters?
Beatrice offered no answer.
“Beatrice.”
“What now?”
“The letters Amelia wrote.”
Amelia.
My heart seemed to pause.
I repeated the name silently.
Amelia.
Could that be her?
Our mother?
Amelia.
I whispered it again inside my mind.
After twenty years of believing she’d walked away from us, I finally had something I’d never known.
Her name.
Grandma Rose continued questioning her.
“Did you throw them away?”
“No.”
“Then where did you put them?”
“Somewhere secure.”
“Why would you keep them?”
Another long pause followed.
Then Beatrice answered, “Kenneth specifically asked me to.”
My chest felt heavy.
Kenneth had known those letters existed.
Naturally, he had.
Grandma Rose voiced the very question I was thinking.
“What happened after Kenneth passed away?”
“They slipped my mind.”
“You know that’s not true.”
Beatrice laughed without warmth.
“You’ve always believed you understand everything.”
“I understand my own daughter.”
“No. You understand the person you’ve chosen to dislike.”
“Then show me I’m mistaken.”
I adjusted my stance.
The wooden floor creaked beneath me.
Both women immediately stopped talking.
My pulse quickened.
“Mason?”
Beatrice called my name.
I stayed perfectly still.
A chair moved across the floor.
I glanced toward the entrance.
For one brief, unreasonable moment, I thought about walking away.
About acting as though I’d heard nothing.
But there was no possibility of doing that anymore.
The person who’d walked through that doorway just five minutes ago had changed forever.
The old Mason would have apologized for showing up without calling.
The old Mason would have believed whatever story Beatrice decided to tell.
The old Mason would have done anything to avoid upsetting the family.
That version of me had disappeared in the hallway.
I walked around the corner.
Beatrice became motionless.
Grandma Rose raised a hand over her mouth.
The lilies were still in my hands.
So was the birthday present.
Somehow, the sight of them almost made me smile.
I faced Beatrice.
“Happy birthday.”
Her expression suddenly went pale.
“Mason.”
I stepped farther into the kitchen.
Her eyes moved toward the flowers.
Then returned to my face.
“How long have you been there?”
“Long enough to understand.”
Grandma Rose lowered her gaze.
Beatrice quickly regained her composure.
That was something she’d always been good at.
“Whatever you believe you overheard—”
“Please don’t.”
She stared at me in surprise.
I had never addressed her in that tone before.
Not ever.
“I heard every word.”
“Mason, there are things about this situation you don’t understand.”
I placed the flowers on the table.
The lilies rested beside an uncorked bottle of wine.
“Then help me understand.”
She kept staring at me.
I moved a chair away from the table and sat.
“Begin with Amelia.”
Grandma Rose shut her eyes.
Something shifted in Beatrice’s expression.
It was barely noticeable.
But I recognized it.
Fear.
And that unsettled me even more than everything I’d overheard.
“Who exactly is Amelia?”
Beatrice remained silent.
I turned toward Grandma Rose.
“Grandma?”
She slowly opened her eyes.
Tears filled them.
“She’s the woman who gave birth to you.”
Hearing those words spoken aloud changed everything for me.
Amelia.
My mother finally had a name.
I lowered my eyes toward the table.
“Is she still living?”
Grandma Rose glanced toward Beatrice.
Beatrice quickly replied, “We have no idea.”
Grandma Rose turned toward her in surprise.
“We really don’t.”
“Please stop lying.”
“I’m telling the truth.”
“You admitted she returned.”
“A long time ago.”
“How often?”
Beatrice crossed her arms.
“Mason—”
“How many visits?”
Her expression tightened.
Grandma Rose spoke instead.
“No fewer than four.”
I faced her.
“When did she come?”
“The first visit happened when you boys were around five.”
Five.
I searched through my memories.
There was nothing.
“And the next visit?”
“The following year.”
“What about the remaining visits?”
Grandma Rose hesitated.
“When you were eight. Then once more, not long before Kenneth fell ill.”
I turned back toward Beatrice.
“You actually met her?”
“Yes.”
“But never mentioned it to us?”
“You were still young.”
“Why did she come?”
Beatrice looked directly at me.
“Why do you suppose she came?”
I rose from my chair.
Its legs scraped loudly against the floor.
Grandma Rose startled.
I gestured toward Beatrice.
“My entire childhood, I believed she had simply walked away from us.”
“I wanted to spare you.”
“Spare us what?”
“More heartbreak.”
“You were the one who caused it.”
The words came out before I could reconsider them.
For the first time, Beatrice seemed unable to respond.
My hands were trembling again.
I slipped them into my pockets.
“Where did you put her letters?”
Her eyes flickered toward the hallway.
That told me enough.
I headed for the door.
“Mason.”
I kept walking.
“Mason, wait.”
I moved toward the staircase.
She caught my sleeve.
I stepped away.
“Please let go.”
Her expression turned stern.
“You’re standing in my home.”
“And you’re keeping letters addressed to me.”
“You haven’t any idea what those letters contain.”
“That’s precisely the problem.”
I started upstairs.
Behind me, Beatrice called out.
“Mason!”
I didn’t stop.
There were three rooms used as bedrooms upstairs.
The bedroom Simon and I had shared.
Beatrice’s bedroom.
And Kenneth’s private study.
Following his passing, that study remained locked.
At least, that was what Beatrice had always claimed.
When Simon and I were teenagers, he once tested the doorknob and discovered it wouldn’t turn.
Beatrice became extremely upset.
“Don’t ever try entering that room again,” she’d warned.
We assumed her reaction came from sadness.
Now everything made sense.
I stopped outside the study.
The door remained locked.
Beatrice reached the landing behind me.
“Mason, please don’t.”
I faced her.
“Give me the key.”
“You aren’t thinking clearly.”
“Where have you hidden it?”
“This reaction is exactly why I kept quiet.”
Grandma Rose appeared behind Beatrice.
“Hand him the key.”
Beatrice shot her mother an angry look.
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Mother.”
“You’ve kept this secret for far too long.”
Something seemed to change between them.
For a moment, Beatrice appeared diminished.
And much older.
Grandma Rose extended her palm.
“Give him the key.”
Beatrice remained motionless for several seconds.
Finally, she reached inside the neckline of her blouse.
A little brass key was suspended from a delicate chain around her neck.
My stomach tightened.
She’d been wearing it.
Throughout all those years.
She removed the chain.
“Very well.”
She placed the key in my open hand.
“But after you enter that room, don’t expect me to repair whatever happens next.”
I met her gaze.
“You’ve already changed my entire life.”
I opened the study door.
The familiar scent reached me immediately.
Dust.
Aging books.
Cedarwood.
And another familiar smell.
Kenneth.
Not his actual presence, obviously.
But the room carried the same comforting scent as his coats whenever I embraced him.
I nearly lost my composure.
His wooden desk still stood beside the window.
A picture of Simon and me rested inside a silver frame.
We were six years old.
Both of us had gaps where our front teeth belonged.
Kenneth stood smiling behind us.
Beatrice wasn’t included in the photograph.
I approached the desk.
It had three drawers.
The upper drawer held pens and faded receipts.
The middle drawer contained insurance paperwork.
The lowest drawer wouldn’t open.
I glanced toward Beatrice.
She remained quiet.
Another small key was fastened beside the brass one.
I inserted it.
The drawer slid open.
Inside lay numerous envelopes secured together with an old blue ribbon.
My fingers went cold.
Each envelope carried the same two names across its front.
MASON AND SIMON.
Several had turned yellow over time.
Others appeared considerably newer.
The uppermost letter carried a date from fifteen years earlier.
I faced Beatrice.
“And you claimed these slipped your mind?”
She offered no reply.
I lifted the earliest bundle.
It contained at least thirty letters.
Possibly even more.
I unfolded the oldest one.
The handwriting was careful, though slightly irregular.
Dear Mason and Simon,
I have no way of knowing whether these words will ever reach you.
Your father keeps asking me to remain patient. He believes Kenneth is a decent man and promises that you’re both being cared for. I’m doing my best to trust him.
Yet every day we spend apart makes the entire world seem a little emptier.
There’s something I desperately need you to understand.
I didn’t go away because my love for you had disappeared.
I left because I truly believed it was the only way to protect your lives.
My fingers became motionless.
Protect our lives?
I raised my head.
“What is she talking about?”
Beatrice’s face had lost its color once more.
Grandma Rose murmured, “Keep reading.”
So I continued.
Someday, when you’re old enough to understand, I’ll explain the whole story.
Your father is working hard to make everything right.
For now, please remember that you’re in my thoughts every morning as I open my eyes and every evening before I fall asleep.
Mason, whenever something frightened you, your little hand would reach for my finger.
Simon, you couldn’t fall asleep without your soft blue blanket resting against your face.
None of those memories have faded.
I remember both of you.
And I love you dearly.
Forever.
Mom.
I slowly lowered the page.
Tears made the words impossible to see.
Simon really had owned a blue blanket.
That memory was unmistakable.
He took it everywhere until he was almost nine.
Beatrice had repeatedly told us the blanket came from the orphanage.
But it hadn’t.
It had belonged to her.
To Amelia.
Our mother.
I held the letter close to my lips.
“She remembered us.”
Nobody spoke.
“She actually remembered us.”
Grandma Rose gave a small nod.
“She did.”
I turned toward Beatrice.
“You convinced us she didn’t even remember who we were.”
Beatrice turned her attention toward the window.
I selected another envelope.
It had been written the following year.
My precious boys,
Today, I caught a glimpse of you.
Neither of you noticed me.
You were cycling through the park with Kenneth.
Mason, you lost your balance and hurt your knee.
Simon immediately turned around to help you.
You’re still taking care of one another.
Just as you’ve always done.
Kenneth noticed me standing across the street.
Later, he came over to talk.
He told me you were happy.
I desperately hoped he was telling the truth.
He asked me to be patient just a little longer.
I’m doing my best.
Heaven knows I’m trying.
Whenever I catch sight of you, every part of me wants to rush over and embrace you.
But I promised never to expose you to danger again.
Danger.
That word had appeared once more.
I began searching through the letters more quickly.
Individual sentences caught my attention.
I talked with your father yesterday.
He believes we might finally have the proof we need.
Please forgive me when you eventually discover what happened.
I wish Kenneth would allow me to visit you.
Beatrice has made it clear that I’m unwelcome near your home.
I understand her resentment toward me, but perhaps someday she’ll realize that none of this was ever my choice.
Your father has gone missing again.
I’m frightened.
If something should happen to me, Kenneth knows exactly what to do.
I froze.
I read that sentence a second time.
Your father has gone missing again.
“Who was our biological father?”
Neither woman responded.
I faced them.
“What was his identity?”
Grandma Rose slowly lowered herself into Kenneth’s old armchair.
Beatrice remained beside the doorway.
Then something became clear to me.
Both women were frightened.
It wasn’t embarrassment.
It was genuine fear.
“Tell me his name,” I insisted. “I need to know.”
Beatrice finally replied.
“Daniel Vale.”
The name was completely unfamiliar.
“What kind of man was he?”
Grandma Rose lowered her gaze.
“He and Kenneth worked together.”
I hadn’t expected that.
“Seriously?”
“Long before either of you was born.”
“What kind of work?”
Beatrice answered, “Financial services.”
Grandma Rose corrected her immediately.
“There’s more to it.”
Beatrice gave her a meaningful warning glance.
I caught it.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Grandma Rose met my eyes.
“Kenneth was employed as an accountant by a private investment firm.”
“I already knew that part.”
“But you never knew what was happening inside that firm.”
Beatrice moved closer.
“Mother.”
Grandma Rose continued anyway.
“They were concealing financial transactions.”
A chill passed through me.
“What sort of transactions?”
“Funds belonging to individuals who preferred their activities remain undiscovered.”
“People involved in illegal business?”
She paused.
“Some of them.”
I almost laughed because it sounded impossible.
Kenneth?
The same man who loved wearing ridiculous holiday sweaters?
The man who spent weekends helping us assemble miniature airplanes?
“Are you saying Kenneth committed crimes?”
“No.”
Grandma Rose shook her head firmly.
“Kenneth uncovered what was happening.”
The study suddenly felt colder.
“He began collecting copies of documents. Transfers. Identities. Overseas accounts. He planned to hand the evidence to investigators.”
“What about Daniel?”
“Daniel was helping him.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Our real father.”
“That’s right.”
“Then what happened?”
Grandma Rose glanced at Beatrice.
“Someone discovered their plans.”
I watched her closely.
“Who found out?”
“We never learned their identity.”
“Then how did Simon and I become involved?”
Grandma Rose’s voice trembled.
“Because Daniel went missing.”
I struggled to understand.
“What exactly do you mean by missing?”
“He left one day and never returned home.”
“And what did Amelia do?”
“She became frightened. She believed the people responsible might target her next.”
“And her children.”
Grandma Rose nodded.
“So Kenneth agreed to take us in?”
“Only for a short time.”
Those words stunned me.
“A short time?”
“The arrangement was meant to last only until the situation became safe.”
I turned toward Beatrice.
“Then how did we end up being adopted?”
Nobody answered.
But suddenly, I understood.
Beatrice.
I looked straight at her.
“What role did you play?”
She stood taller.
“I did nothing wrong.”
Grandma Rose shut her eyes.
“Tell him what happened.”
“I’ve already told you—”
“Tell him the truth.”
Beatrice’s expression hardened.
“Kenneth grew attached to you.”
“And?”
“You were already staying with us. Amelia was overwhelmed. Daniel had vanished.”
“She was afraid for our safety.”
“She wasn’t thinking clearly.”
“What did you do, Beatrice?”
She met my gaze.
“I persuaded Kenneth that making the adoption permanent was the safest decision.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Did it actually protect us?”
“To a certain extent.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No.”
I swallowed with difficulty.
“Then why did you insist?”
For the first time that afternoon, something deeply personal appeared in Beatrice’s expression.
It wasn’t remorse.
It was something harder to understand.
“I was unable to have children.”
I remained quiet.
“Kenneth dreamed of becoming a father.”
Grandma Rose murmured, “Beatrice…”
“No. He demands an explanation? Then he’ll get one.”
She turned toward me.
“Kenneth and I spent years trying. Medical appointments. Treatments. Every possible option. Nothing succeeded. Then one evening he arrived home saying a colleague’s children needed a safe place to stay.”
Her expression tightened.
“And suddenly, you were living under our roof.”
A few distant memories returned.
Not of the day we arrived.
But of Kenneth kneeling beside a small bed.
Simon quietly crying.
His blue blanket.
A little moon-shaped nightlight.
Perhaps those images came from our very first evening there.
Beatrice went on.
“Initially, I expected you to stay seven days.”
She gave a humorless laugh.
“Then it became several weeks.”
Her gaze drifted away.
“And before long, Kenneth began referring to you as his sons.”
Nobody said anything.
“What happened when Amelia asked for us back?”
“The situation was still unsafe.”
“You haven’t answered me.”
Beatrice faced me.
“I told Kenneth that returning you would put you at risk.”
“Was that actually true?”
“Some of it was.”
“Only some?”
Grandma Rose spoke quietly.
“She also convinced Amelia that Kenneth no longer intended to return the boys.”
I turned toward her immediately.
“What did you say?”
Beatrice stared at her mother.
“You have no idea what you’re saying.”
“I was the one who drove you there.”
Grandma Rose had begun crying.
“I waited outside in the car while you went inside to speak with her.”
Beatrice looked at her in disbelief.
“You’ve kept quiet for twenty years, and suddenly you’ve decided to tell everyone?”
Grandma Rose looked shaken.
Still, she continued.
“Beatrice told Amelia that Kenneth believed the children belonged with them.”
“That can’t be true.”
“She also warned Amelia that Kenneth had influential contacts who could prevent her from regaining custody.”
“No.”
Beatrice raised her voice.
“You’re twisting what happened.”
Grandma Rose continued without looking at her.
“Amelia trusted what she was told.”
I stared directly at Beatrice.
“You kept us away from our mother.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“I was keeping you safe.”
“You deliberately separated us.”
“That’s not fair.”
“You deceived our mother.”
“I provided a stable childhood.”
“And you deceived us.”
“I spent years raising you.”
“You spent those years reminding us that we were never truly welcome!”
My voice echoed throughout the study.
For the first time, Beatrice stepped backward.
I could no longer hold back everything I’d carried.
“You made us believe we’d been abandoned. You convinced us nobody cared enough to keep us. You constantly reminded us how fortunate we were because without you, we’d have nowhere to belong.”
“I was frustrated.”
“We were just little boys!”
“I understand.”
“You were supposed to be the grown-up!”
“I KNOW!”
Her sudden outburst startled everyone.
Beatrice placed her fingertips against her forehead.
For a brief moment, she appeared completely drained.
Then she said quietly, “I know.”
I kept looking at her.
“Did Kenneth ever discover what you said to Amelia?”
She remained silent.
“Did he know the truth?”
“No.”
Her answer was barely a whisper.
Something inside me seemed to give way.
Kenneth hadn’t knowingly deceived us.
At least, not from the beginning.
“Then why didn’t he make things right?”
Beatrice stared down at the floor.
“Because several years had already passed before he discovered what I’d done.”
“How did he find out?”
“He came across one of Amelia’s letters.”
Grandma Rose added softly, “She eventually began mailing them straight to this house.”
Beatrice gave a small nod.
“Kenneth confronted me about everything.”
I pictured the arguments between them.
The tense voices coming through their bedroom door.
The disagreements I could never explain.
“What happened afterward?”
“He reached out to Amelia.”
“And what did he tell her?”
“He promised that once you boys reached eighteen, he would explain the entire situation.”
“Why wait until we were eighteen?”
“Things weren’t simple.”
“Why couldn’t he tell us sooner?”
“Because the people connected to Daniel were still out there.”
Silence settled over the study.
I looked at her.
“You keep repeating that.”
“Because it really happened.”
“Who was looking for us?”
“We never discovered their identities.”
“Then what makes you certain anyone was?”
Beatrice met my eyes.
“Because someone was responsible for Kenneth’s death.”
I suddenly struggled to breathe.
No words came.
Grandma Rose’s face turned pale.
“Beatrice.”
“You insisted on hearing everything.”
“No,” Grandma Rose murmured. “Not that part.”
My throat felt painfully dry.
“Kenneth passed away from a heart attack.”
Beatrice studied me with an unusual expression.
“That’s what his official records stated.”
I shook my head.
“He collapsed while working.”
“That’s right.”
“He had a heart condition.”
“No.”
I looked at her in disbelief.
“He was taking medicine.”
“Only afterward.”
“Excuse me?”
“He wasn’t taking any medication for his heart before that incident.”
Grandma Rose rose from her chair.
“That’s enough.”
Beatrice turned toward her.
“Why? Apparently we’re revealing every secret today.”
The woman standing before me seemed almost unrecognizable.
There was frustration in her expression.
But it wasn’t directed at me.
It was directed at memories she’d carried for years.
“Kenneth had been perfectly healthy,” she explained. “Until that particular afternoon.”
I could barely speak.
“What happened that day?”
“He telephoned me that morning.”
I waited for her to continue.
“His voice sounded absolutely frightened.”
Never before had I heard Beatrice describe Kenneth that way.
“He said somebody had entered his office without permission.”
“Who was it?”
“He had no idea.”
“Was anything missing?”
“Nothing at all.”
“Then what frightened him?”
“Whoever entered had left something behind.”
