Emma's Secret: A Novel

but he was more of a distant father, showing his love by providing for his family rather than being there emotionally for them.
    “He’s dying, Megan. Emma’s lost so much in such a short time. She’s going to lose him, too, eventually.” His arms dropped, leaving her feeling chilled. “We took him away from her once. I don’t want to do it again.” His face turned to stone as he said those words, his gaze determined. “I need you to trust me.”
    Even if Megan had wanted to fight him on this, she knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She dropped down to rest on her heels and pulled out a box from beneath her seat.
    She’d thought long and hard about doing this. It would have been very easy for her to destroy the box she’d hidden high in her closet, to shred the letters between Jack and Emma and pretend she’d never attempted to keep them apart. Except, if she was going to put Emma’s needs first, then being honest with Peter about this was necessary. No more secrets.
    “I was wrong to do that to her,” she said as she handed the box to Peter.
    He took the box from her hands and slowly opened the lid, his eyes widening when he realized what was inside.
    She stepped closer and placed the palm of her hand against his cheek. His five-o’clock shadow tickled her sensitive skin.
    “I do trust you,” she whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
    M ay 5
    Dear Jack,
    I love you. I hope when you eventually read this journal, you will remember that above all else.
    I’ve never remembered things with such clarity as today. It almost makes me wonder if this is my last good day. Will the rest go downhill from here? Will I forget who you are, Jack? Will I forget about Mary and our sweet precious Emmie?
    I hope not.
    But if I do, I want you to remember this: above all else, you are my heart.
    I haven’t been the perfect wife, but I’ve been the best one I can be. I made mistakes raising Mary, but looking back, I made the best decisions I could at the time.
    How Emmie came to be with us—I don’t think I can ever be forgiven for that. I don’t believe it’s a memory of something else that is confusing me or a nightmare I can’t wake up from. It has to be the truth. I don’t remember much about that day, but I do know that our Mary is dead, and I don’t think she had a daughter. I don’t know how I found our precious Emmie, but Jack…I need you to do the right thing. I can’t. I don’t trust myself anymore.
    I will say this, to hear the laughter in your voice and to see the love in your eyes, I will cherish that forever. Our Emmie has been a miracle in our lives; she’s given our old bones a reason to live.
    I love you, Jack. I always will. Hold that close when things go dark.

    Jack sat up in his room, his heart heavy as he held Dottie’s journal in his hands.
    Of everything he’d done since Dottie’s death, reading this journal was the toughest yet. Going through her clothes, making room for the boys to come and stay with him, even packing up her knickknacks hadn’t hurt as much as this one small book.
    He tried to wrap his head around what he’d just read. How had he not seen just how far Dottie’s illness had taken her? So much heartache might have been averted if he’d only opened his eyes and seen what was happening to his girl.
    She asked for love but not forgiveness. He would have given her both, no questions asked.
    A heavy tread up the stairs alerted him that he’d soon have company.
    “If we don’t leave soon, we’ll be late. Kenny’s all in a panic.” Doug edged Jack’s bedroom door open and stood there.
    “Tell the old man to keep his pants on. I’m coming.”
    Doug pointed to the journal in his lap. “You found another one?” His gaze strayed over to the bookshelf full of Dottie’s journals.
    Jack considered how much to tell Doug. He caught the worry in his friend’s eyes and knew the time for secrets had passed.
    “It’s her last one.”
    Doug took a step into the room and sat down in the wicker chair beside the door.
    “Did you read it?”
    Jack nodded. “She was a stronger woman than I gave her credit for.” He shuffled the book in his hands, not willing to part with the feel of it, for even a moment. It was the last thing she’d written, her last letter to him.
    “Does she talk about Emmie?” Doug leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
    Jack shrugged.
    “What are you going to do about it?” They’d had this discussion many times, about how Dottie