“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to frighten either of you. When I saw the flower, I reacted. I spent time at Maplewood when I was younger. I’ve thought about those children for decades.”
Mom gave her a tired smile.
“It’s okay.”
Then she glanced at me.
“Maybe this needed to happen.”
Patricia nodded.
Then she reached into her pocket.
She pulled out an old envelope.
The edges were soft from age.
The paper had yellowed.
She handed it to me carefully.
“This came from one of the Maplewood archive boxes investigators recently brought in for review.”
I stared at it.
“It was filed under your original name.”
My hands began trembling.
Patricia continued.
“It appears to have been placed there only days before your parents’ accident.”
I looked down.
Written across the front in faded blue ink were the words:
To be opened by Emma when she’s ready.
