He handled the investigation and explained the reports. He stayed for every rough patch when I was trying to hold everything together for the sake of my five daughters.
He became the person I trusted most.
A month after the funeral, my daughters and I placed a memorial marker at the spot where Ben’s car left the road.
I never went back there or drove on that road again until last week.
He became the person I trusted most.
It all started the night Lucy woke me up.
She was standing beside my bed, clutching the old teddy bear she had slept with since she was little.
Even in the dark, I could tell she was shaking.
“Lucy? What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“I found something inside Mr. Buttons. It fell out.” She held out a folded piece of paper. “Dad hid this note.”
It all started the night Lucy woke me up.
I thought she was making it up. Not maliciously, but because she’d recently started asking more and more questions about how her father and brothers died.
Questions I answered as simply as possible because remembering the details hurt too much.
“Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”
“Look at it.” She held the note closer, her eyes filling with tears. “I know what really happened to Dad and my brothers.”
I took the paper.
“I know what really happened to Dad and my brothers.”
My hands started shaking when I unfolded it and saw Ben’s handwriting.
If anything happens to me, don’t believe what you’re told. I’m sorry, but I did something stupid. Go to the cabin. Look under the rug.
I read it three times, and each time my heartbeat climbed higher.
