Chapter 2: The Box in the Mattress
Forty years passed, but grief never learned to use a calendar.
Then my doctor told me my heart and balance had worsened. Living alone was no longer safe. My nephew Daniel offered me a room with his family and gently suggested that we sell the house.
That meant packing Clara’s clothes and entering the children’s rooms as a man in his eighties instead of the father who had last closed their doors.
While sorting Emily’s room, exhaustion overtook me. I sat heavily on her bed and heard a sharp crack beneath the mattress.
My fingers found something hard. Daniel helped me turn the mattress, revealing a crude line of stitches along the underside. I cut through them and removed a small wooden box.
Inside were several old letters and a note in Clara’s unmistakable handwriting.
The first line stole the air from my lungs.
“Andrew, if you are reading this, something has happened to me. Read everything carefully. Do not trust Gwen. There is something you never knew.” Continue Reading ⬇️
