It was an old brown envelope.
The edges were worn, the paper yellowed with age, and my mother’s handwriting was visible across the front.
My name was written there.
Not my nickname.
Not the name Mom usually called me.
My full name.
My hands went cold.
“What is that?” I whispered.
Tessa sat across from me.
For several seconds, she couldn’t bring herself to answer.
“Mom gave this to me when I turned eighteen.”
I stared at the envelope.
“Why didn’t you give it to me then?”
“Because she made me promise not to.”
“Promise what?”
“Promise that I would only give it to you after she was gone.”
I looked at my mother’s closed bedroom door.
For the first time since returning home, I felt something other than grief.
I felt afraid.
“Tessa, what’s inside?”
She lowered her eyes.
“Everything Mom didn’t want you to know.”
I reached for
