Part Five: Unit 34
The key turned easily.
The metal door rolled upward with a long, groaning sound.
A stale smell drifted from inside—dust, cardboard, and years of closed air.
Watcher walked in first.
He did not hesitate.
The unit was packed with boxes.
On the shelves were Ethan’s baby blankets, his first pair of shoes, and drawings I had never seen. There were photographs, school papers, and a small wooden train he used to carry everywhere.
I touched the side of a box.
“Why didn’t I know about any of this?”
Watcher moved toward the back wall.
There, beneath a stack of blankets, I found an envelope filled with cash. Beside it was a folder tied with faded string.
My fingers trembled as I untied it.
Inside were letters.
Dozens of them.
Some were written in Ethan’s childish handwriting. Others had been dictated from his hospital bed. Ruth had clearly preserved every one.
I opened the first letter.
“Dear Mama,” I read aloud. “I’m okay. Don’t be scared. Aunt M is keeping my things safe until you’re ready. I love you bigger than the sky.”
My voice broke.
Watcher rested his chin on my shoe.
I pressed the letter against my chest.
Ethan had known I was hurting. Even while he was sick, he had been thinking about how to comfort me.
And somehow, he had also known that Marlene could not be trusted with everything.
I read another letter.
Then another.
One described a rainy afternoon when Ethan had watched birds from his hospital window. Another told me he wanted yellow flowers at his grave because they looked like “little pieces of sunshine.”
I had never received any of them.
Marlene had kept them hidden.
She arrived less than an hour later.
She stood at the entrance of the unit, her mascara streaked down her face.
“Diane, please.”
I did not look away from the letter in my hands.
“I only did it because I loved him.”
“You loved him,” I said quietly. “But you didn’t trust me to survive losing him.”
“I was protecting you.”
“No. You were controlling what I knew.”
She took a step forward.
I stepped back.
“The money will be accounted for,” I said. “Every dollar that can be recovered will go to Ethan’s memorial fund. The letters and his belongings stay with me.”
“Diane, you’re making this worse.”
“You made it worse years ago.”
“I was grieving too.”
“So was I.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.”
“You could have told me the truth.”
She began to sob.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her. Then I looked at the folder in my hands and remembered how many years I had spent believing Ethan had left me with nothing but silence.
“Love isn’t measured by how much pain you claim to have endured,” I said. “It’s measured by what you refuse to do to someone else while you’re hurting.”
Marlene stood there without an answer.
Eventually, she turned and walked away.
Watcher watched her leave.
Then he leaned against my leg.
