“Cresswell?” I gently prodded, my concern growing. “What is it?” “A letter.” He sounded so sad, my heart nearly broke. I motioned to the little pouch, wanting to drag him from his despair. “That’s the strangest letter I’ve ever seen.” He glanced up through thick lashes, humor flickering in his eyes before he looked away. “Instead of being terrified of her imminent death and thinking only of darkness, my mother wrote us letters. She wouldn’t survive to see either of us married, but…” He shook his head, swallowed hard. His emotions were on full display, unlike earlier, during the autopsy, when
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