envelope had never been opened.
The letter had been written years earlier, after my grandfather learned that Daniel had died.
He had apparently placed it inside the suit because he couldn’t bring himself to send it.
It was an apology he had never managed to deliver.
And Claire had decided that our wedding day was the right moment to return it to the family.
I wish I could say I immediately understood.
I didn’t.
I was overwhelmed, angry, embarrassed, and trying to process decades of family history in front of
