sat down on the bottom stair like his legs had stopped agreeing to the plan.
Tamsin held the envelope out to me. “Read it.”
“Tamsin, do not,” my dad said.
“Read it, Jo.”
I took it. My fingers didn’t want to. The paper was soft the way old paper gets, fuzzy at the folds, a coffee ring on one corner. Inside was a single sheet, and a smaller envelope, and continue reading …
