I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Finally, I looked toward the empty chair across the table.
“You’re dead,” I muttered. “You don’t get to give me instructions anymore.”
Cecelia kicked hard beneath my ribs.
I looked down.
“Your father is already annoying me from beyond the grave.”
Another kick.
“Yes. He probably deserved that.”
I folded the note.
Then I put the flash drive away.
I wasn’t ready.
Part 4: Grief Needed Someone to Blame
Two days later, Violet came to the house.
I found her standing in Cecelia’s nursery, folding a pink blanket that had already been folded perfectly.
“Violet?”
She didn’t turn around.
“Did they take everything?”
For a moment, I didn’t understand.
“From Mark,” she added.
I swallowed.
“They’ll only recover what can actually be donated.”
She held the blanket more tightly.
“And you’re okay with that?”
“No.”
