“They were buried at the bottom of Richard’s locked desk drawer,” I explained, my chest tightening at the painful memory. “Tucked away in that same heavy mahogany desk where he hid all his corporate ledgers and secret accounts. After he passed away, when the estate lawyers finally started clearing out his study, they discovered a heavy metal lockbox wedged deep in the back of the bottom filing cabinet. I thought I knew everything about the man I slept beside for decades. Turns out, I didn’t know a damn thing.”
“Nobody ever really does until the ledger finally opens,” Dylan said grimly, shaking his head.
We sat in silence for a few moments, letting the rhythmic patter of the autumn rain against the kitchen window fill the space between us. It felt surreal and profound how a single house could hold so much heavy history, so many ghost-like memories, yet feel so suddenly, vibrantly alive once more.
