good out of this disaster.”
Eventually, I agreed.
I want to donate whatever they can use.
***
After Ethan died, his heart went to an eighteen-year-old girl.
At his funeral, a woman approached me. “My name is Rebecca.”
I barely looked at her.
Then she said, “My daughter received Ethan’s heart.”
I froze. “She did?”
His heart went to an eighteen-year-old girl.
Rebecca nodded and handed me an envelope. “He asked me to give you this.”
I recognized Ethan’s handwriting.
The first line read:
‘Mom, there’s something you need to know about her.’
I looked up.
“What does this mean?”
He asked me to give you this.
Rebecca’s face changed. “Read it at home.”
“Do you know what’s inside?”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
“I promised Ethan I wouldn’t.”
That was the moment gratitude turned into suspicion. And the next sentence turned suspicion into rage.
Read it at home.
I couldn’t make
