My mom called me at 2 a.m. and said I could come to my brother’s fiancée’s family dinner only if I kept my mouth shut. She warned me her father was a decorated colonel. Bu

it.

Colonel Whitaker picked up the letter and held it out to me. “This belongs to you.”

I took it.

The paper felt thinner than memory.

Margaret laughed once, sharp and humorless. “So what now? Everyone applauds Grace? We rewrite history at dinner?”

“No,” I said.

Every eye turned toward me.

I folded the letter and placed it beside my plate.

“Now Cassandra decides continue reading …