Sometimes justice is quiet. Sometimes it just puts a good man’s name back where it belongs.

That night, Wyatt and I drove out to the cabin. No cameras, no speeches. Just the two of us on the wooden dock, watching the sun go down over the water.

Wyatt reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cloth bag.

“If that’s another ring, Wyatt, your timing is terrible.”

His face went serious. “It’s not a ring, Sadie.”

He handed me my grandfather’s very first letter. “I think you should read this one today.”