I unfolded it slowly.
And the moment I saw the handwriting, I recognized it.
It was Emily’s.
My wife’s handwriting.
The handwriting I had seen on grocery lists.
Birthday cards.
Notes left on the refrigerator.
School forms.
Little reminders around our house.
My hands began to shake.
Mike watched me.
“I eventually discovered the donor,” he said quietly.
“It was your wife.”
I stared at him.
Emily had never told me.
Not once.
She had never mentioned Mike.
She had never told me about Kylie.
She had never told me that she had given away $40,000.
She had simply done it.
And then she had gone home and continued living her ordinary life.
The woman who packed snacks for school events.
The woman who volunteered at church.
The woman who worried about whether the
