At the funeral, Grace stood beside my children. When people asked who she was, I said she was family, though I still did not know whether that was true.
Part 2: The Box
The night after the funeral, I lay awake counting every question David had left behind.
Near midnight, Grace appeared holding a wooden box.
“He told me to wait until the day after,” she said.
I asked her to leave it until morning, but she refused.
“I have spent my whole life as a secret. I cannot wait anymore.”
She sat beside me and placed the box between us. Inside were old letters and faded photographs. The first picture showed David’s father beside a young woman I had never seen.
“My mother,” Grace whispered.
On the back, David’s father had written one word: Forgive me.
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