Chapter 11
"I'll need you to provide the complete records to Robert," I said.
Benjamin nodded.
"I will."
"And if the review shows that money was taken beyond what I authorized, we'll need to address that."
He looked frightened.
But he didn't argue.
"I understand."
I studied him.
"Do you really?"
He wiped his eyes.
"I don't know if I understand everything yet. But I know I've been lying to myself."
For the first time in a long while, I believed he might be telling me the truth.
Not because he was crying.
Not because he was frightened.
But because he had finally stopped asking me to fix the consequences.
PART 7 — THE LETTER THOMAS LEFT BEHIND
That weekend, I opened Thomas's old writing desk.
I had avoided it for years.
After he died, I couldn't bear to sort through the papers he had left behind.
His reading glasses still rested in the top drawer.
A fountain pen lay beside an old address book.
And beneath a stack of receipts was a sealed envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Eleanor.
I recognized Thomas's handwriting immediately.
My hands trembled as I opened it.
Inside was a short letter.
He had written it during the final months of his illness.
I sat down before reading.
My dearest Eleanor,
If you're reading this, I hope you know how much I loved the life we built together.
You have always given more than anyone asked of you. Sometimes more than anyone deserved.
I worry that after I'm gone, you'll believe your purpose is to keep everyone else comfortable.
It isn't.
You were my partner, not my caretaker. You are Benjamin's mother, not his bank.
Please don't spend the rest of your life trying to purchase a place at a table where you already belong.
You deserve peace, Eleanor.
And you deserve to enjoy what we worked so hard to build.
All my love,
Thomas.
I read the letter once.
Then again.
By the third time, tears were running freely down my face.
For six years, I had carried the fear that Thomas would be disappointed if I stopped helping our son.
I had imagined him telling me to be patient.
To forgive.
To give Benjamin one more chance.
But here, in his own handwriting, was the truth.
He had understood me better than I understood myself.
He had known that my greatest weakness wasn't selfishness.