Paige opened her tote.

“I’ve brought something.”

Inside was a wooden box with a brass hinge.

It held a handful of letters in Walter’s handwriting, each addressed to me.

The envelopes had never been mailed.

“He asked me to hold these when he went into the hospital,” Paige said.

“Donald said he’d send them with your other mail.

After Walter died, he told me you’d received everything.”