Another pause.
Then she said, “Because Rachel wasn’t the only woman who wrote to you that week.”
No one moved.
“What does that mean?” Rachel whispered.
Before my mother could answer, there was a knock at the apartment door.
Not a polite tap. Not loud, either. Just three measured knocks, calm and deliberate.
Rachel and I stared at each other.
The children went quiet in the living room.
I crossed to the door with the phone still glowing in Rachel’s hand. Through the peephole, I saw Noelle standing in the hallway, her face pale, her wedding ring box held tightly between both hands.
And beside her stood my father, holding a sealed envelope addressed to Rachel.
FINAL PART
The apartment fell completely silent.
Noelle stood in the hallway clutching the small velvet ring box with both hands.
Beside her, my father held a thick cream-colored envelope sealed with dark blue wax.
