“You should’ve told me.”
“I know.”
“You should’ve broken the promise.”
“I know.”
“I spent years wondering why he didn’t come back.”
Naomi’s eyes filled.
“I know.”
“And you knew.”
“Yes.”
I hated how much pain was in her voice.
Then she said something I hadn’t considered.
“You think knowing made it easier for me?”
I didn’t answer.
“I knew our father had abandoned two women and two daughters. I knew your mom had every reason to hate me before she even met me, and she still took me home. I spent my entire childhood terrified that one day you would find out and decide I was proof of everything your father did to your mother.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
“You blamed me for taking the front seat when we were kids.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
Naomi wiped her face.
“I was terrified.”
That was when my anger finally shifted.
Not disappeared.
Shifted.
Because Naomi had not created the secret.
She had inherited it.
Just like I had.
Before she left, I remembered the wooden box inside the safe.
We went back downstairs.
Inside were two sealed letters.
One for Naomi.
One for me.
Mine began:
Harper,
If you are reading this, then I did what I was always afraid I would do. I waited too long.
Mom admitted everything.
She wrote that after Raymond left, she hated him.
For months, she also hated Caroline, even though she knew logically Caroline had been lied to as well.
Then she met Naomi.
A frightened eleven-year-old who apologized every time she ate something from Mom’s refrigerator.
Mom wrote:
