Chapter 66 - The Letter for Whoever Stayed
Lydia did not know my name.
That made the letter easier.
She could not bless me.
Could not choose me.
Could not turn me into a replacement.
She had written to a possibility.
If Noah is being raised in part by someone outside our family, thank you.
I stopped reading.
Grant sat across from me on the terrace.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Do you want to stop?”
“No.”
I continued.
Please do not let gratitude trap you. Care work makes people invisible while making them indispensable. If Grant forgets the difference between trusting you and owning your loyalty, remind him.
I looked up.
Grant rubbed his face.
“She really knew me.”
“Apparently.”
“Continue.”
“She might insult you more.”
“I deserve the risk.”
Lydia wrote about Noah.
His likely stubbornness.
His father’s terrible habit of reorganizing drawers.
Her own fear that Noah would grow up surrounded by adults who knew more about his mother than he did.
Tell him the truth before secrets become inheritance.
That sentence stayed with me.
Then came something unexpected.
If there are other children in his life because of mine, do not make him responsible for repairing what I broke. Let them be siblings before they become symbols.
Abigail and Eden had spent months becoming symbols.
Hidden daughter.
Secret twin.
Trust beneficiary.
Wren claimant.
Mercer scandal.
Lydia had somehow known how easy that would be.
At the bottom she wrote:
And whoever you are, if you love him, let it be because you met him—not because you loved me, pitied Grant, or promised the dead.
I folded the letter.
Grant looked away.
“That was unfairly specific.”
“She was apparently very controlling from beyond the grave.”
He laughed.
A real laugh.
Quiet.
Unexpected.
Then he looked at me.
“I love you.”
No storm.
No gala.
No blood on the floor.
No attorney nearby.
Three words.
Terrifying precisely because nothing forced them.
I looked at him.
“You picked an aggressive moment.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“You’re sure this isn’t gratitude?”
“Yes.”
“Trauma?”
“Probably some trauma.”
“Comforting.”
“But not only trauma.”
I let silence exist.
Months earlier he would have filled it.
Now he waited.
“I love you too,” I said.
His face changed.
Then I added, “And I am not becoming Mrs. Mercer tomorrow.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You looked like you might.”
“I learned fear of timing from Lydia.”
“Good.”
He reached for my hand.
This time I moved first.
The kiss was quiet.
No thunder.
No dramatic music.
No one watching.
At least that was what I believed until we heard a disgusted voice behind the terrace door.
“Oh, finally.”
Abigail.
Eden stood beside her.
“You owe me five dollars,” Eden said.
“I said before October.”
“You said before the hearing.”
“I meant final appeal.”
I stared at both girls.
“Why are you gambling on my personal life?”
Abigail shrugged.
“Family culture.”
Grant said, “Go away.”
Noah appeared behind them carrying his rabbit.
“Love!”
Everyone laughed.
For several weeks, life became boring.
Beautifully boring.
Eden returned to school under June’s care.
She visited the estate on weekends.
Abigail remained in the guesthouse.
The twins sometimes slept over in each other’s rooms and sometimes refused to speak for a day.
Normal.
Noah started calling Eden “Eden” correctly and then stopped because “Eee” annoyed her more.
Grant and I moved slowly.
Deliberately.
My role with Noah remained professionally documented while we began restructuring it so nobody could someday argue affection had erased boundaries.
Abigail approved.
Eden said paperwork was romantic in this family.
Eli agreed.
Then the hospital historical review arrived.
Most findings were inconclusive.
No proof Lydia had been intentionally harmed.
No proof the extra sedative reached her.
No evidence supporting homicide.
Relief should have ended it.
One attachment did not.
The privacy request Rachel admitted submitting had blocked Grant from receiving the cardiology warning.
But investigators found another alteration in Lydia’s chart.
A result from a blood test taken twelve hours before her death had been removed from the copy given to the original death-review team.
Not hidden from Grant.
Hidden from the doctors reviewing why she died.
The missing result showed a drug in Lydia’s system that was not listed among her prescribed medications.
Grant read the report once.
Then again.
“What drug?”
Dr. Feldman answered carefully.
“A cardiac stimulant.”
“Could it have killed her?”
“Not by itself. But in someone with an arrhythmia susceptibility…”
He did not finish.
He did not need to.
May you like
The hospital had reopened Lydia’s death review.
And this time police were reopening theirs too.
