The next morning, I drove to her house.
I left the envelope on her kitchen counter with a short note: For Beverly.
Then I returned home to wait.
There was something very important that Beverly didn’t know.
Twenty minutes after I got home, my phone rang. I picked it up.
Beverly was sobbing. For once, it wasn’t the fake, dramatic sob she used for an audience. That was raw and real.
“No… nooo,” she wailed. “That can’t be real.”
“Oh, it’s real.”
“Please. Forgive me, Sylvia! I will do anything for you.”
“Anything? I’m glad to hear you say that, Beverly. Do you have the documents in front of you?”
“Please. Forgive me, Sylvia! I will do anything for you.”
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
