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At the end of the evening, we drove back to his house. Our house now, right? It was the same home he’d shared with his wife before she passed. I told myself it didn’t bother me.
We were starting fresh.
I noticed something strange almost immediately. It was a corner of old paper taped to the underside of the drawer with a strip of Scotch tape. I pulled the drawer out further.
It was an envelope.
I carefully peeled off the tape and pulled it out.
The paper was old, and there was beautiful, feminine handwriting on the front. My breath caught in my throat when I finally made out the words.
“If you’re reading this, he didn’t tell you the truth.”
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