Mercer stood frozen in the study, the folded letter trembling slightly in his hand. He read the date again, certain he'd misread it the first time. Three years after her death. Three years later, he'd stood in a small grave outside the city and watched dirt cover a coffin he'd been told held his mother's body.
He unfolded the letter fully, his eyes moving quickly over his mother's careful handwriting.
*Keston,*
*I know what I'm asking of you is impossible. I know the risk it puts you in, keeping this secret from a boy who deserves better than the lies we've both agreed to tell him. But I need more time before he knows the truth. He's too young still, too likely to do something reckless if he learns what really happened to his father, and what's still hunting us both.*
*Tell him I love
