Her son, Michael, was just eight months old, too young to remember her voice, her face, or the way she held him.
I can shorten the intro if it feels too long for a Facebook post, or make it more dramatic.Ten minutes before the crash, Emily had stopped at my house and handed me a sealed envelope.
“Mom, please keep this somewhere safe. I’ll explain everything tonight.”
But that night never came.
After her funeral, I opened the envelope.
What I read terrified me so much that I hid the letter inside my late husband’s Bible.
And for 30 years, I never spoke of it again.
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