There was something stiff underneath the lining.
I pulled out a folded piece of paper.
I knew the handwriting immediately. I'd seen it on countless grocery lists and birthday cards over the years.
It was Gwen's handwriting.
I nearly dropped the letter when I read the first line.
Dear Grandma, if you're reading this, I'm already gone.
I pulled out a folded piece of paper.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no. What is this?"
I kept reading.
I know you're hurting. And I know you're probably blaming yourself. Please don't.
The tears came fast, and I didn't try to stop them.
Grandma, there's something I never told you.
I leaned back against the wall and covered my mouth with one hand as I read the rest of it.
Grandma, there's something I never told you.
I now understood exactly what had led up to Gwen's death.
For weeks, I'd been telling myself I failed her, that I'd missed the signs, that I should have asked better questions, paid closer attention, and seen what was right in front of me.
But Gwen had hidden it all from me on purpose.
She hid it because she loved me, and because she didn't want the last months we had together to be filled with fear.
And now I knew exactly what I had to do.
