I let him inside because my legs would not have supported me much longer.
He placed the wooden box on the kitchen table as carefully as though it contained something holy.
“My name doesn’t matter much,” he said. “What matters is that your sister came to my office two days before she died.”
“She made me swear an oath.” He touched the lid. “This was to be delivered to you under one condition, and one condition only. If Michael ever married you.”
The room seemed to tilt beneath me.
His expression was gentle but filled with sorrow. “Your sister knew exactly what kind of man she married. And she knew what he would eventually do to you.”
I lowered myself into the chair opposite him.
“Open it,” he said gently. “I’m sorry. I’ve carried this for two years.”
I raised the lid.
Clara’s wedding ring rested above a folded cream-colored envelope, its diamond catching the light.
