I stared at the thick gray envelope, felt its gravitational pull. I shuddered.

Sally was still talking, her voice softer now. “They told me how you were in the middle of it, how you figured it out. That you caught her. Charlotte, I can’t imagine what it was like. It must have been horrible.”

“I didn’t figure anything out,” I said. “Audrey told me, that’s all.”

“That’s not what the detective said.”

“He wasn’t there, he doesn’t know anything.”

“Just take it, Charlotte.” She held the envelope out to me again.

“You’re only giving it to me because she’s dead. It should be hers.”

“You’re right, it should. But that’s not where we are, is it? Danielle wanted it. You should want it, too. For your future. You can do anything now. College, go to the best school you can find. Travel. You’ll never have to worry, do you understand? You’ll be secure.”

I couldn’t see it, couldn’t stand the idea. Travel? Who did she think I was?

“Give it to someone else,” I said. “Give it to charity. Find some organization for rape and incest survivors.”

“Charlotte, stop it. You’re acting like a child.”

“I don’t want it,” I said.

“Of course you want it. It’s already done, anyway. If you don’t want to spend it, fine. It can sit there and accrue interest until you change your mind. You don’t have a choice. It’s my money and I’m giving it to you.”

She picked up a stuffed animal, a unicorn with a puffy silver horn. “This was her favorite,” Sally said, her voice thick with tears.

“I’ve never seen it before.”

“Maybe you don’t know everything,” she said. “Did you ever consider that? I gave this to her when she was seven years old. Long before you met her. She always saved it.”

Sally tossed the unicorn aside. It landed in a box of clothes.

“Charlotte, my daughter died. My daughter. I used to hold her in my arms. She used to run to me when I came home from work every afternoon. I’ve made mistakes, I know that. I’ve also made a lot of money. Why shouldn’t I give it to you? Let this be one good thing that I have done. Please.”

“You can’t fix what you did to her. Money can’t fix it,” I said.

“Charlotte, that’s not what I’m trying to do.”

“Bullshit,” I said. “You’re using me again. I don’t want to be the stand-in. You can’t buy your way out of your guilt. It won’t work.”

“I know that,” she said. “I know it’s too late.”

I was ready to argue, still furious, but she sounded so broken and sad I couldn’t think of anything to say. She was right, I was acting like a child, ungrateful and cruel. She’d lost her daughter. What did I know about how that felt?

“Well, this isn’t how I thought this would go,” Sally said, her voice cold, mechanical. “Take this stuff, will you? Get it out of here.” She left the room, shut the door behind her.