Six Years After the Lake Trip, One Blue Envelope Upended Everything Clara Believed
The handwriting was Daniel’s unmistakable cursive, leaning hard to the right, in dark blue fountain pen.
“Read it to me,” Sophie said quietly.
My eyes ran down the yellow page.
It was dated two days before he took the boat out on Blackwood Lake for the last time.
“If I disappear, don’t assume the lake took me,” I read aloud.
The shed was dead still except for the soft sound of the two of us breathing.
“What else does he say?” Sophie asked, her voice tight.
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