No explanation.
Just two words written in Thomas’s careful handwriting across a cream-colored envelope.
I stared at it for several seconds.
I had been married to Thomas for only seven days, yet the word “husband” still felt unfamiliar when I thought about him.
The hospital room was quiet.
His pillow still carried the impression of where his head had rested, and a cup of peppermint tea sat untouched beside the bed.
Around my finger was the simple ring he had given me—a soda can pull tab that had become our wedding ring.
“What truth?” I asked the attorney.
He gave me a gentle smile.
“Thomas said you would understand better if you opened the backpack by yourself.”
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