He looked down at his hands. Then back up.
“I need to tell you some things,” he said. “And I need you to know first that everything in this folder, every single thing, is for you. All of it. It’s always been for you.”
He swallowed hard.
“My name is Mark Ellison. I’m fifty-three years old. I’ve been married to Lena Ellison for twenty-six years. We have a daughter named Sophie who’s going to be a nurse. We live at 418 Cedar Street.” He was speaking slowly. Carefully. Like a man reading the instructions off the back of a box. “I’m saying all this out loud because my doctor said it helps to practice. And because one day, I might need to watch this to remember it.”
My hands went numb.
I mean that. Literally numb. Pins and needles, all the way up to my elbows. I couldn’t feel the mouse under my fingers.
