The Note Beneath the Coffin

“Then where do I go?”

“Do you still have the lake house key?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go there. Alone. And Evelyn…”

His voice dropped almost to a whisper.

“Do not tell Michael where you are.”

The line went dead.

I stood frozen, staring at my reflection in the dark window beside me. For the first time in forty-two years of marriage, I realized my husband had been afraid before he died.

Afraid enough to plan for it.

I returned to the reception pretending nothing had happened.