Page 29 of The Pink House

Hannah longed to see what was inside the envelope. But she wanted to do so in private, not under Maisie’s watchful gaze.

Her world, which had steadied over the past weeks, had once again been knocked off its axis. “I’m going home.”

Maisie nodded. “I understand.”

Hannah held up the envelope, now clutched tightly in her hand. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” Maisie’s expression remained focused on her until Hannah disappeared into the woods.

Her mind continued to race as she tried to make sense of something that made no sense. How had an envelope addressed to her ended up at a house in the middle of the woods? Did mail even get delivered here?

Even if it did, there was no address on the envelope, just her name.

With each step she took toward home, Hannah’s heartrate increased. By the time she burst out of the woods, her breath came in short puffs, as if she’d just run a long race.

Someone called her name.

She paid no attention. Right now, nothing mattered except getting inside her house—her sanctuary—and opening the envelope.

After unlocking the door—it took two attempts due to her hands refusing to stop shaking—she made it inside. She dropped down on the sofa, the envelope still clutched in one hand.

When she’d taken it from Maisie, she thought the flap had been sealed. It was, but so lightly she was able to run her finger under the edge and open it without any real effort.

A folded piece of parchment lay inside.

Taking a steadying breath, Hannah grasped the paper with two fingers, slipping out the single sheet and unfolding it.

My dearest Hannah.

She had to pause, had to force herself to breathe even as tears filled her eyes, and her heart became a sweet mass in her chest.

Brian, her beloved husband, had written this letter. To her.

When had he done this? Had it been before or after that horrible day when she’d rushed him to the hospital because he was coughing up blood and fighting for breath? That was when they’d learned Brian wasn’t battling bronchitis or pneumonia, but something far worse.

Hannah had been with him every day of his fight to survive and had been holding his hand when he passed.

Inhaling a shuddering breath, she cast aside the questions and read.

My dearest Hannah,

As we’ve both discovered, the future is not guaranteed. I thought I had all the time in the world with you. It wasn’t to be.

Do you remember when I proposed? On that sunny day, life stretched before us like a huge blank canvas filled with possibilities. We were so practical. Too practical, I realize now.

Remember our plan? It seemed to make so much sense. Focus on careers in our twenties. Focus on building a family in our thirties. Again, that big blank canvas offered infinite possibilities.

Instead of being so practical, we could have been traveling the world. We could have been making babies. We could have been enjoying our youth.

The plans we made together were cut short. I think of all the time we gave our jobs and wonder now what any of it was for.

You were coming into your own when we started dating in college. I wanted to give you a full life, a happy life.

If only we’d had more time together. I wish I’d approached you back when we were kids so there was never a part of my life that you weren’t with me.

There are so many things that were a part of my life back then that I would have shared with you.

Fishing on Pigeon Creek at dawn.

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