“But why would there be letters in here, of all places, with her handwriting? That doesn’t make sense.” She moved next to him and took his hand in hers. “Do you want to open them?” “I don’t know what this means, or why they are here, and no, I don’t want to open them,” he whispered, obviously terrified of what this meant. I can’t do this. I don’t want to know why my wife was leaving letters in this shack. He wanted to go home now and leave the mocking letters on the table. I can’t look. I won’t look. He methodically buttoned up the front of his shirt. “Let’s go home, Lily.” He sat down on the bed and pulled on his boots. Lily rose from the chair where she sat and silently pulled on her boots. She picked up the pile of letters on the table, neatly stack them back together and retied the ribbon around them. “What are you doing?” “We need to take these with us, Seth.” She tucked them into her shirt pocket. “No, we don’t. I don’t want to know what’s in them,”
