It was marked with my name.
Inside were four handwritten pages.
The first three concerned her worries about the foundation and her determination to investigate the suspicious payments.
She explained why she hadn't wanted to accuse anyone before establishing the facts.
She was frightened that people she trusted had exploited her work.
And she worried that I might feel professionally responsible if Graham's department was involved.
But the last page was different.
Claire had stopped writing about money.
Instead, she'd written about our children.
James, sometimes I look at Ethan and wonder how our little boy became nearly as tall as you. He acts so grown-up now, but he still needs us to remind him that he doesn't have to carry adult problems.
My eyes filled.
I continued.
Nia is different. She asks questions about everything. Sometimes I get tired of answering them, and then I remember that her curiosity is one of the things I love most about her.
I smiled through tears.
That was Claire.
Always noticing who our children were becoming.
Always reminding me that they were people with their own fears, hopes, and complicated thoughts.
The letter continued.
I hope we never become the kind of parents who demand obedience when what our children really need is to be heard.
I stopped reading.
For a long time, I stared at the sentence.
Then I looked toward the hallway.
Ethan was upstairs working on his documentary.
Nia was in the garden photographing flowers.
Our house was quiet.
Peaceful.
And more honest than it had been in years.
I returned to the letter.
The final paragraph made me cry.
If we get through this difficult period, I want us to take the children back to Maine next summer. No business calls. No foundation meetings. Just the four of us. Ethan can complain about the beach, Nia can take a thousand photographs, and you can pretend you know how to build a campfire.
I laughed through tears.
Claire had always teased me about campfires.
I was a successful developer who knew how buildings were constructed.
But I couldn't start a fire outdoors without making a complete mess.
She thought that was hilarious.
I read the last sentence.
I love the life we've built, James. Not because it's beautiful or successful, but because it belongs to us.