My Elderly Neighbor Died — After His Funeral, I Received a Letter From Him Revealing He’d Buried a Secret in His Backyard 40 Years Ago

**

That evening, as the girls watched TV and Richie made spaghetti, I stood by the window, staring at the apple tree’s twisted branches.

He came up behind me, arms around my waist. “If you want, Tanya, I’ll be there. You don’t have to do anything alone.”

I leaned back into him.

“I just need to know, Rich. He was always so kind, you know? He always left an envelope of cash during Christmas, just so that we could spoil the girls with candy.”

“Tanya, I’ll be there.”

“Then let’s find out what he left you. Together, if you want.”

My husband kissed my hair and then went back to plating the girls’ dinner.

I felt steadier.

**

“Let’s find out what he left you.”

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wandered the house in circles, pausing at the back window. I caught my reflection, brown hair pulled into a fraying ponytail, eyes tired, pajama pants sagging at the knees.

It wasn’t the picture of a woman ready to dig up the past.

I thought about the lessons my mother told me as a kid:

“You can’t hide what you are, Tanya. Eventually, everything finds its way to the surface.”

I couldn’t sleep.

I wasn’t a messy person, my life ran on lists and calendars.

But the letter in my pocket made a liar out of me.

**

The next morning, I waited until Gemma and Daphne left for school and Richie had gone to work. I called in sick, then put on my gardening gloves — old habit — and walked out the back door, shovel in hand.

I wasn’t a messy person…

I stepped into Mr. Whitmore’s yard, feeling like an intruder and a child at once.

My heart thumped out of rhythm.

I crossed to the apple tree, its blossoms pale and trembling in the morning wind.