Dearest Martin,

Please don’t be angry with my father or with me. I know it was not your wish that I come to the sanatorium, but Papa believes I will fare better here. I may even improve. That is why I allowed him to spirit me away like he did. It wasn’t to anger you or conspire against you. He was afraid if he told you he was going to step in to care for me that you would prevent him from doing so. I have always taken your side with him, Martin. You know I have. But I feel he is in the right this time. Please, please try to understand!

They are taking wonderful care of me here, and I do feel stronger, even if it is only a little bit. Please come and see me as soon as you can and bring Kat. I know I haven’t been the mother to her that I should’ve been, but I want to try to change that in whatever time I have remaining to me. I have made so many mistakes, Martin. We both have. But we do not need to keep making them. Please, my darling. I know it has not been good between us. I know now I took the losses of our sons too much to heart. I was not a good wife and I utterly failed Kat as a mother. I know I cannot be the wife for you that I should have been, but please, please let me attempt to be the mother I should’ve been to Kat. Please bring her to me. Let me see her.

Your loving wife,

Candace

My breath stills in my lungs. Here is the reason I can find no death certificate for Candace in Martin’s desk. She’s not dead. She’s alive, or at least she was nineteen months ago. And since there is no death certificate and three thousand dollars instead of tens of thousands in Martin’s bank account, she must still be at that sanatorium. Martin told me many months back that his dead wife had been bequeathed an inheritance from her grandmother and that that was what had allowed him to buy this house, but Martin hasn’t inherited anything from Candace. She’s not dead. He must still be living off the sale of Annabeth’s ranch.

As I look down at Candace’s letter, I feel my strength leaving me like blown dandelion wisps. Up to this point my mounting anger at Martin’s deceit has felt like something to be harnessed and utilized, like a team of ready horses. But now I feel undone. Emptied of vigor.

This is surely how Belinda felt just an hour ago when she saw that photograph of Martin and me, as though her world was suddenly made of paper and she was made of thread. Her world was tearing into bits and she was unraveling as the pieces floated away on too swift a breeze.

Candace isn’t dead.

Kat has a mother and it’s not me.