She found the manila envelope she’d stuffed into the back of the drawer. Pulling it out, she laid it on the desktop.

Just one letter—that was all she would read. And she’d made up her mind on the way downstairs that she would make a random choice, taking a chance on what she’d find.

Focusing her gaze into the darkness beyond the desk, she reached into the manila envelope and groped among the letters. Choosing one, she tightened the clasp of her fingers and pulled it free.

The small envelope was pink, addressed to a motor lodge somewhere in Texas. The postmark dated this letter eleven years earlier than the one Allison had read first. Kate and Burke would have been in their thirties, Brianna not much more than a toddler.

There were just two pages, pink like the envelope. Allison had come to recognize Kate’s neatly rounded handwriting, but this time the script had a slightly forward slant, as if scrawled in haste or even anger.

Bracing herself for whatever she might find, she began to read.

Burke, I am writing this letter because I’m too upset to call you on the phone again. Any conversation we might have at this point would only escalate into an ugly fight.

Yesterday was our anniversary. You forgot, but that’s not why I’m writing. Last night, around midnight, I heard Brianna struggling to breathe. I bundled her up and rushed her to the emergency room. The doctor said she had pneumonia. If I hadn’t gotten her right in, she could’ve died. I stayed, scared half to death, while they gave our little girl oxygen and pumped her full of antibiotics. Toward morning her fever broke and she started feeling better, but they kept her for the rest of the day and, of course, I stayed with her. They released her tonight and I brought her home. She’s sleeping now, but I’m afraid to close my eyes for fear she’ll be sick again.

I don’t know how many times I tried calling your room. I phoned the front desk as well, and left messages, but I never heard back. I know your work involves going to clubs and parties at night to check out the talent, but blast it, you have a family. You could have called. Better yet, you should have been here.