SALLY.
I slipped one finger beneath the flap.
Inside was a single sheet of paper.
I recognized Mark’s handwriting immediately.
The first line nearly broke me.
My beautiful Sally,
I had to stop reading.
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I could almost hear his voice.
That gentle voice he used whenever he knew I was about to cry.
I opened my eyes again.
If you’re reading this, then I didn’t get to meet our daughter.
I’m sorry.
I covered my mouth.
“No,” I whispered.
A woman walking past glanced at me.
I didn’t care.
I kept reading.
But please don’t let those words become the story you tell her about me.
Tell her I knew she was coming.
Tell her I talked to her before she was born.
Tell her she kicked so hard that I once accused her of trying to break my ribs.
A broken laugh escaped me.
I remembered that night.
Mark had been lying beside me with his palm against my stomach.
The baby had kicked.
He had looked at me with complete seriousness.
“She’s definitely going to be difficult.”
“You mean she’s definitely going to be like me.”
“Exactly.”
Then he had kissed my stomach.
“Your mother is going to blame me for everything you do.”
I pressed the letter against my heart.
The next paragraph was different.
There is something I need you to know about the organ donation.
My breathing stopped.
I didn’t tell you everything because I knew you’d try to stop me.
I stared at those words.
He was right.
I would have.
But I also didn’t want you to think my decision was about dying.
It wasn’t.
It was about what comes after.
I wiped my eyes.
Dr. Rivers knows what I mean.
I looked toward the hospital.
Dr. Rivers.
Why had Mark involved him?
I continued.
Three weeks ago, Dr. Rivers told me something I wasn’t expecting.
There was someone else who might be able to survive because of what happens after I die.
My heart began pounding.
Someone else?
I read the next sentence twice.
I can’t tell you who in this letter.
Not because I don’t trust you.
Because I need you to hear the truth from her.
Her.
I froze.
A woman?
Who was she?
My hands began to tremble.
She has been carrying something for a long time.
Something that doesn’t belong to her.
Something I should have told you about years ago.
I stopped breathing.
Years ago?
Mark and I had been married for three years.
What could have existed before me?
What had he hidden?
I turned the page.
There was only one sentence on the bottom.
When she comes to you, please let her finish.
Then, beneath it:
Even if you hate me afterward.
The letter slipped from my fingers.
I stared at it on the wet pavement.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to run back into the hospital and demand that Dr. Rivers tell me everything.
Instead, I picked up the paper.
I folded it carefully.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
“Sally?”
I turned.
It was Dr. Rivers.
He wasn’t holding an umbrella.
His hair was soaked.
He looked exhausted.
“Who is she?” I asked.
He stopped.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
“Who is the woman Mark wrote about?”
His expression changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
As if he’d known this moment was coming.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because Mark asked me not to.”
“He’s dead.”
The words came out sharper than I intended.
Dr. Rivers looked down.
“I know.”
“Then his promises don’t matter anymore.”
“They matter to me.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Of course they do.”
I stepped closer.
“Tell me.”
He shook his head.
“Sally, there’s something you don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
He looked toward the hospital doors.
“Mark wasn’t only preparing for his death.”
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Before he could answer, a nurse hurried through the doors.
“Dr. Rivers?”
He turned.
The nurse whispered something into his ear.
His face immediately went pale.
He looked at me.
Then at the hospital.
Then back at me.
“What?” I asked.
He swallowed.
“The recipient.”
“What about them?”
“They’re ready for surgery.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with me?”
Dr. Rivers hesitated.
Then he said quietly:
“Everything.”
Before I could ask another question, a woman stepped through the hospital doors.
She was young.
Maybe a few years older than me.
Her face was wet from the rain.
She stopped when she saw Dr. Rivers.
Then her eyes moved to me.
And she froze.
I didn’t know her.
But the way she looked at me made something cold move through my chest.
She walked toward us slowly.
Dr. Rivers stepped aside.
The woman looked at my pregnant stomach.
Then at the letter in my hand.
And finally into my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I stared at her.
“For what?”
She began to cry.
“For knowing your husband before you did.”
My entire body went still.
Then she reached into her coat.
She pulled out a small photograph.
And held it toward me.
I didn’t want to look.
But I did.
It was Mark.
Much younger.
Maybe twenty years old.
Standing beside a woman I had never seen before.
And in his arms was a baby.
On the back of the photograph, written in Mark’s handwriting, were four words:
My first little girl.
I couldn’t breathe.
The woman whispered:
“Her name is Emily.”
Then she looked down at my stomach.
“And she’s the reason Mark made that promise.”
Part 3 — What Mark Left Behind
Part 3 — What Mark Left Behind
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
I stared at the photograph.
Mark.
A baby.
Another woman.
A life I had never known existed.
My fingers tightened around the picture until it bent.
“Who is Emily?”
The woman in front of me closed her eyes.
“I am.”
The world seemed to tilt.
I looked at her face again.
There was something familiar about her.
Not enough to recognize.
Just enough to frighten me.