“This is private.”
“I wrote to Evelyn every year. These are my copies, postal receipts, and the letters that came back.”
Margaret barely glanced at them.
“They prove that you mailed envelopes. They don’t prove what was inside.”
Barry stepped forward and laid several aged envelopes beside the box.
“These prove the rest,” he said. “I found them hidden in your desk.”
“They don’t prove what was inside.”
The room went silent.
Margaret’s face hardened.
“I protected this family. Frank left, and Rachel would’ve used that child to claim part of the estate.”
Emma shifted closer to me. One boot squeaked against the polished floor.
“My daughter has a name,” I said.
Margaret looked away.
