Chapter 7 - ELENA’S LETTER
For four years, I had believed I possessed everything Elena left behind.
Her jewelry.
Her photographs.
Her journals.
Her phone.
Her unfinished grocery list still folded inside an old cookbook because I could never bring myself to throw it away.
There had never been a letter.
Not one addressed to Camille.
Not one Raymond should know about.
I called him back.
He did not answer.
I called Camille.
Evelyn tried to stop me.
This time I ignored her.
Camille answered on the second ring.
“Adrian.”
“What letter?”
Silence.
“You should speak with Raymond.”
“I am speaking with you.”
“You’re emotional.”
“My dead wife apparently wrote something you have hidden for four years.”
“I did not hide anything.”
“Then send it.”
“No.”
That answer told me everything.
“Why?”
“Because Elena was not well.”
My vision narrowed.
“Do not do that.”
“Do what?”
“Rewrite her.”
“She was struggling.”
“She had migraines.”
“She was tired.”
“She had a four-year-old child and a husband who traveled constantly.”
“Elena loved our life.”
Camille laughed softly.
“You always saw what you wanted.”
I understood what she was doing.
She wanted anger.
Still.
Even after the wedding.
Even on the phone.
I forced my voice lower.
“Send the letter.”
“No.”
“Then my attorney will request it.”
“Your attorney has no right to private correspondence.”
“If it concerns my daughter, she does.”
Another pause.
Then Camille said something strange.
“It concerns more than Noelle.”
“What does that mean?”
“You made your choice last night.”
“Now live with it.”
She disconnected.
Evelyn was furious.
“That was reckless.”
“Did you hear her?”
“Yes.”
“She has something.”
“Obviously.”
“What could Elena have written?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Lydia did.
She had remained quiet near the window.
Now she looked terrified.
“There was an envelope.”
Everyone turned.
“When?”
“After Mrs. Mercer died.”
My blood stopped.
“Elena?”
Lydia nodded.
“Your mother came home from the hospital with an envelope.”
“Did you see it?”
“Only once.”
“What was written on it?”
Lydia closed her eyes, remembering.
“For Adrian.”
The words hit harder than the wedding.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“In Elena’s handwriting?”
“I think so.”
I sat slowly.
“Why would my mother have it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did she keep it?”
“In the study.”
“At her house?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“In a wall safe.”
Marcus looked at me.
I knew what he was thinking.
“No.”
Evelyn’s voice was immediate.
“You are not going there.”
“It belongs to me.”
“You cannot break into your mother’s property.”
“I still have a key.”
“That does not grant permission.”
“What if she destroys it?”
“Then we document that we demanded preservation.”
The legal answer was correct.
I hated it.
Evelyn sent Camille and Raymond formal preservation notices within the hour.
They were instructed not to destroy documents, recordings, photographs, correspondence, electronic files, or anything concerning me, Elena, or Noelle.
At five-thirty, Raymond finally responded.
One sentence.
NO SUCH LETTER EXISTS.
Lydia stared at the email.
“He’s lying.”
“Can you prove it?”
She shook her head.
Then Aaron, the wedding photographer, called Marcus.
Another photograph.
Another detail.
We opened the file.
The image had been taken during cocktail hour.
Camille stood beside Raymond.
His hand held a cream-colored folder.
Nothing remarkable.
Until Marcus enlarged the picture.
Handwritten on the corner of the folder were three words.
ELENA — ORIGINAL LETTER.
Nobody spoke.
Evelyn immediately saved multiple copies.
“Now we can establish Raymond knew it existed yesterday.”
I stared at the photograph.
My mother had carried Elena’s final words through four years of birthdays.
Four Christmases.
Four anniversaries.
She watched Noelle grow.
She watched me grieve.
And every day she chose silence.
Why?
That question became unbearable.
Then my front-door camera chimed.
A vehicle had stopped outside.
Black sedan.
Two people stepped out.
One was Raymond.
The other was a woman I had never seen.
She carried a leather case.
Marcus checked the security feed.
“Attorney?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
The doorbell rang.
I opened the door with Evelyn beside me.
Raymond looked tired.
“Adrian.”
“What are you doing here?”
The woman opened the leather case.
She removed documents.
“Mr. Mercer, my name is Patricia Gaines.”
“I represent Camille Mercer in a petition for emergency grandparent visitation and temporary protective custody.”
Noelle appeared at the top of the stairs.
Raymond looked up.
My daughter saw him.
Then she saw the documents.
Her face changed.
“Daddy?”
May you like
Patricia extended the papers.
“You have been served.”
