the papers, tied carefully with a piece of twine.
There were fifty-five letters.
One for almost every year Thomas and I had been apart.
A handwritten note rested on top.
I pressed a hand to my mouth as tears ran down my face.
“I don’t understand,” I whispered.
“Read the note,” Walter said. “Thomas wanted you to learn the truth in his own words.”
Thomas explained that my Aunt Margaret had been a customer at his family’s hardware store for forty years.
Over time, she had also become his friend.
