That grounded the letter in something real.
Human.
Not fate.
Not destiny.
Just love expressed before anyone knew how important the words would become.
I pressed my fingertips against my eyes.
“I thought for one awful minute he knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That he was going to die someday and had been preparing things without telling me.”
Adrian shook his head.
“No. He wrote it years before his diagnosis.”
Relief moved through me.
Strange relief.
Grief had already taken enough.
I didn’t want it rewriting the happy years too.
“Who put the copy on my desk?”
“I asked Rachel to trace access to the file.”
I frowned.
“Before you came here?”
“Yes.”
“You assumed I’d want to know?”
“I assumed you deserved to.”
A knock sounded.
An older woman stepped into the room.
She wore silver-framed glasses and carried a tablet.
“Mr. Kane? Julia?”
Adrian stood.
“Julia Bennett, this is Evelyn Shaw. She has managed the foundation archives for twenty-three years.”
