It had belonged to Daniel.
Inside were old photographs, letters, receipts, and the brass compass he carried through every harvest.
Beneath the compass lay an envelope I had never seen.
My name was written across the front in Daniel’s handwriting.
Evelyn—open this only if the farm is ever sold.
My hands began trembling.
“Where did you find it?”
“In the locked drawer of his desk,” Luis said. “The key was taped beneath the bottom.”
Daniel had been gone seven years.
For seven years, that envelope had waited in darkness.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a letter and a small flash drive.
The letter began:
My dear Evelyn,
If you are reading this, then one of two things has happened. Either we finally retired, or I left you to finish the road without me.
I stopped reading.
Clara sat beside me.
“You don’t have to do this tonight.”
