I thought that was the last thing I would have to do for him.
I was wrong.
As I was leaving the hospital, I walked slowly down the hallway toward the exit.
I was exhausted.
Eight months pregnant.
Heartbroken.
And desperate to get home before anyone could say my husband’s name again.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
“Sally, wait!”
I stopped.
I turned around.
Dr. Rivers was coming toward me.
His face was pale.
One hand was behind his back.
“Please,” he said. “Wait.”
Something in his voice made me stop.
He brought his hand forward.
He was holding a plain envelope.
My name was written across it.
Sally.
I knew the handwriting immediately.
Mark’s.
“He gave me this three weeks ago,” Dr. Rivers said.
I stared at the envelope.
“He told me you were not supposed to see it while he was alive.”
My throat tightened.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know everything that’s inside.”
He paused.
“But Mark was very clear that I was to give it to you only after he was gone.”
I took it.
It felt strangely heavy in my hands.
