My Granddaughter Kept Asking Why Grandpa Slept in the Shed — But My Husband Had Passed Away Eight Months Earlier

was written across the front.

Eleanor.

My breath caught.

It was Harold’s handwriting.

Not just similar. Not mistaken. His.

I sat down hard on the old stool beside the bench and opened the envelope with fingers that barely worked.

The first line made the shed spin around me.

“Eleanor, if you’re reading this, then I was right about Raymond.”