I turned away from her.
Not because I had no more questions, but because my body had reached its limit. I could feel the ground under me, but only barely. Every discovery had opened another room inside the house of my life, and none of the rooms matched the map I had been given.
Daniel noticed.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
“I need the letters,” I replied.
He looked to the examiner, who sealed them carefully in a clear evidence sleeve after photographing them.
When he handed them to me, the plastic crinkled in my hands. So many years of love, flattened and stored in a box.
Outside Crown Ridge, the sky had turned the color of unpolished silver. Clouds hung low over the trees, and a thin mist gathered on the windshield of Daniel’s car.
