I opened the lid, and taped inside it was an envelope in Emmett’s handwriting, dated two months before he died. He had known where the chest would end up. He knew I would eventually go and get it, and he had gambled that when I did, I would finally be ready to read what he left.
It was short. He wrote that he had watched Delphine learn, young, that a sad mother could be steered, and that he feared after he was gone she would steer me straight into the ground. He wrote: You give because you are afraid that if you stop, there will be nothing left of you they need. There is. It’s in this chest, next to the tools. Build something for yourself for once.
THE STORY CONTINUES ON THE NEXT PAGE… 👇👇👇
