Daniel left with the flowers still on the counter.
By the end of the week, I had moved into the lake house.
Not because it was grand, though it was beautiful. Not because it was revenge, though Patricia called screaming when she realized I had accepted the inheritance. I moved because it was quiet. Because it was mine. Because the first time I carried Lily through the front door, I could almost hear the echo of the girl I used to be—the one who felt safest there.
Michael delivered my father’s sealed letter two days later.
It was handwritten.
Melanie,
If you are reading this, then I failed to make things right while I was alive.
I saw more than you knew.
I also stayed silent too often, and for that I am deeply sorry.
The lake house is yours because it is the only place your mother could never poison for me.
Take your daughter there.
Start over there.
Do not confuse blood with loyalty.
You deserved better from all of us.
Love,
Dad
