Chapter 17 - The Letter

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One year later, a letter arrived.

No return address. No stamp. Just my name. Handwritten.

I opened it.

Marcus,

If you're reading this, I'm probably dead. Or close to it. That's the way these things work.

I know you hate me. You have every right to. I did terrible things. Unforgivable things.

But I need you to know something. Your father. Tony. He was the best man I ever knew. And I killed him.

Not because I wanted to. But because I had to.

The people I worked for—they don't stop. They don't forgive. If your father had gone to the police, they would have killed us all. You. Karen. Everyone.

So I made a choice. One life for many.

It was the wrong choice. I know that now. But at the time... at the time, it felt like the only choice.

I'm not asking for forgiveness. I don't deserve it.

I'm just asking you to remember one thing: your father loved you. More than anything. And so did I. In my own twisted way.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

Mom

I read the letter three times. Then I folded it. Put it back in the envelope.

Karen was in the kitchen. Cooking. She looked up when I walked in.

"What's that?"

"A letter."

"From who?"

"Mom."

She stopped cooking. Stared at me.

"What does it say?"

"She's sorry."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

Karen took the letter. Read it. Her face didn't change.

"Do you believe her?"

"I don't know."

"She killed Dad."

"I know."

"She tried to kill me."

"I know."

She handed the letter back. "Burn it."

I looked at the envelope. At my mother's handwriting.

"Marcus."

"Okay."

I walked to the stove. Turned on the burner. Held the letter over the flame.

It caught. Burned. Turned to ash.

I watched it disappear.

"Good," Karen said.

I didn't say anything. Just went back to work.

But that night, alone in my apartment, I thought about the letter. About Mom's words.

I'm sorry.

Was she? Really?

I didn't know. I'd never know.

Some things you just have to live with.

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