Chapter 8 - THE FIRST PAGE
The estate executor resolved possession of the letter.
Dad had written Eluned’s name on the outer fold.
Naomi had a contemporaneous note that he intended to give it to Eluned.
Morgause could not show Dad gifted it to her.
A probate judge authorized the executor to copy it for Eluned’s legal guardian—me—while preserving the original with estate records until final classification.
I received a copy.
I wanted to read everything at once.
Naomi stopped me.
“Read it here.”
“Why?”
“Because you are angry and there may be allegations you will immediately act on.”
Fair.
I unfolded the copy.
First line:
Eluned,
You never have to earn dinner in this family.
My chest tightened.
Second:
You never have to earn the right to see clearly.
I stopped.
Naomi waited.
I could not continue.
Not then.
The full letter was three pages.
I read only half the first page before my hands started shaking.
Dad wrote:
I saw something on Sunday that I should have understood earlier.
Then:
I have spoken to your aunt, and I am writing your father separately.
Then:
Please do not blame Cerys.
There.
I put the pages down.
“Why didn’t he send my letter?”
Naomi looked at me.
“We still don’t know if he finished it.”
“What?”
“This version may have been a draft.”
The signature page existed.
But Dad often rewrote letters.
The estate found another envelope addressed to me.
Empty.
No final letter inside.
Morgause denied taking it.
So the question remained:
Did Dad document more elsewhere?
Naomi had legal notes.
Owen had his call.
Texts existed.
But the full central truth needed corroboration before I turned Dad’s words into a final verdict.
Then one phrase on page two caught my eye when Naomi covered it.
MORGAUSE KNOWS WHAT SHE PROMISED ME.
“What did she promise?”
May you like
Naomi said:
“That is what we verify next.”
