The box wasn’t heavy, but as I pulled it into the …
Beneath the letters, I found a legal document. It was a certificate of ownership for a gallery in Berlin, dormant for decades, now sitting in a trust that had been legally transferred to me.
My breath hitched. I picked up the brass key. It matched the address on the back of the photograph.
“What are you doing in here?”
I jumped, turning to find my husband, David, standing in the doorway. He looked exhausted, his tie undone, the grief of the funeral still etched into the lines of his face. He walked over, his expression softening as he saw the box. “I thought you might be in here. She loved this room.”
He knelt beside me and looked into the box. He didn’t seem surprised by the letters; in fact, he looked relieved. He reached out and touched the faded photograph of the estate.
