Carly.
My stomach tightened.
“What is that?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
She simply held the envelope against her chest and looked at me in a way she never had during all those Thursdays I’d spent inside her home.
Then she said quietly:
“You’ve spent eight years taking care of this house, Carly.
But I don’t think you ever realized how much attention I was paying to what was happening in yours.”
I froze.
She placed the envelope in my hands.
It was much heavier than a letter should have been.
“Mrs.
Whitaker…”
“Open it.”
I looked down at my name.
Then back at her.
And when I finally pulled open the envelope and saw the first document inside, I had to sit down.
Because suddenly I understood why Mrs.
