They were directed at me.
All.
Iris Caldwell.
Iris, please call me.
My dear Iris.
Clara's handwriting appeared on some. My old professor's on another. A friend's from university. A former colleague's from the research lab.
Letters I had never received.
Years of voices that Jason had intercepted before they could reach me.
I opened Clara's first one.
Iris, I don't know why you're not answering. I went by yesterday, but Jason said you were asleep. I left the lemon cake you like. I hope he gave it to you. I miss you. I don't care what he says happened between us. You're my sister, first and foremost.
The words blurred.
Clara had come to the house.
Jason had told me that she had given up trying.
I pressed the letter to my chest.
For a few minutes, the legal case vanished. The company disappeared. The money, the mansion, the cars Jason had thrown at me like weapons in court—all of it paled in comparison to the silent devastation of those unopened envelopes.
He had not limited himself to taking goods.
He had brought witnesses to my life.
Madison made a small noise behind me.
I turned around and saw tears in her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said.
I didn't forgive her. Forgiveness wasn't a door someone could knock on and expect to open immediately. But at that moment, I believed she finally understood that she had been with a man she didn't truly know.
The examiner removed the USB drive.
“We will need to get an accurate picture of this,” he said.
Daniel nodded. “Chain of custody from this point forward.”
While the expert was putting it in an evidence bag, Mr. Albright appeared in the doorway with a pale face.
“There is a woman in the lobby asking for Mrs. Mitchell,” he said.
Daniel looked at me. "What Mrs. Mitchell?"
Mr. Albright swallowed hard.
“Evelyn.”
The building seemed to be holding its breath.
Evelyn Mitchell entered the drying room as if she owned the air inside.
She wore a navy wool coat, pearl earrings, and an expression of mild disappointment, as if we were all children who had touched something fragile with dirty hands. Age had hardened her instead of softening her. Her silver hair was perfectly styled, and her lipstick was flawless.
"Iris," he said. "This is unnecessary."
I stared at her for a long time.
Once, I longed for this woman's approval. I mistook her coldness for dignity, her self-control for strength. I tried to make myself smaller around her, quieter, more refined, hoping that one day she would look at me and see a daughter in me.
Now I only saw the architect of a house built without windows.
"Which part are you referring to?" I asked. "Finding the documents or surviving long enough to read them?"
Her eyes blinked, but only for an instant.
Daniel stepped forward. “Ms. Mitchell, this area is under judicial review.”
Evelyn ignored him. "You have no idea what you're causing."
"I think I'm starting to do it," I said.
He looked at the open box, at the cards he held in his hand.
Something flickered across his face then. Not exactly guilt. Recognition.
"You were always too emotional," she said softly.
I almost smiled. "And yet you kept all my letters."
Jason would have denied it. He would have gotten angry, laughed, or called me unstable.
Evelyn did something worse.
She told the truth carefully.
“I kept what I had to keep.”
“For whom?”
“For the family.”
