Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76717 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
I don’t have any enemies here…other than the board regarding my experimental nerve surgery.
“No,” I answer truthfully.
“Any former colleagues?” Richard asks. “Former students? Present students?”
“No, not at all.” Again, I’m speaking the truth.
“Then I don’t see any reason to investigate this any further,” Regina says. “Title IX requires that we take all allegations seriously, but with no substantiation or even a valid source, there’s little we can do.”
“I appreciate your understanding.” The knot in my stomach begins to loosen. “If there’s anything I can do…”
“You’ve done enough already, Dr. Lansing.” Richard’s voice is dry and businesslike. “However, should the situation develop any further, it would be good if you kept us informed.”
“Of course.” I rise from my seat. “Thank you for your time.”
Once outside the HR office, I lean against the wall, my heart racing. I close my eyes, trying to make sense of today’s peculiar events. The anonymous email accusation is unsettling, but it pales in comparison to the truly disturbing mystery—Lindsay’s suicide note.
I return to my office, sit down at my desk, and open the bottom drawer where I keep things that have no other place. I can’t recall the last time I looked in there.
Damn. Right on top is an old picture of Lindsay and me at a medical conference—one of the few times she went with me. Julia stayed with Lindsay’s parents. It was the last trip Lindsay and I took together before…
Before the accident that claimed our daughter and my livelihood…and led to my wife’s suicide.
Except…
I sigh. Of course it was a suicide. I found her in the bathtub, her wrists slit…
But the note.
The note I never bothered to read until today…
As I stare at the photo, the discord of the morning grows louder in my head. What the hell is going on? An accusation from an anonymous source? Then Lindsay’s note, written by someone else?
She still could have taken her life, but this opens a huge can of worms.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to concentrate on what I need to do next. I look at the photo again. Lindsay’s smile sends an ache through my heart. Same as it always does.
There’s only one place I can go to find what I need. I pull out my cell phone and call Lindsay’s parents.
After a few rings, her mother picks up. “Jason?” she says, her tone full of surprise.
Can’t blame her. I rarely call them anymore. It’s too painful—for all of us.
“Lisa,” I say, my throat tight. “I need to ask you something.”
“Of course,” she says. “What is it?”
“Do you still have any of Lindsay’s things?”
A pause on the other end, followed by a soft sigh. “Yes, Jason. We still have some of her things here. I…couldn’t bear to let everything go.”
The sadness in her voice slices through me. I hate that I’m forcing her to relive the pain of losing her daughter.
I clear my throat. “Anything that has her handwriting on it? Something other than a signature?”
“Handwriting?” Lisa’s voice wavers. “I think we have some family recipes she wrote down. And maybe some old letters. But why do you want them now, Jason?”
I rub the back of my neck, trying to ease the aching tension. “I’m sorry, but it’s important. Could I possibly come by later to look at what you have?”
Silence then.
I can almost hear her thoughts.
Why is Jason interested in this stuff now? Why is he making me relive my biggest loss?
Finally, she exhales deeply. “Sure, Jason. Come by around six. We’ll have dinner ready as well if you’d like to join us.”
“That’s okay. You don’t have to bother.”
“It’s no bother. It will be nice”—she chokes a bit, as if holding back a sob—“to see you. You and Lindsay used to eat here so often.”
I sigh. This won’t be awkward at all. “Thank you. I’ll see you for dinner then.”
I end the call and place the phone face down on my desk as I let my gaze wander to the photo of Lindsay and me once more.
And then the note.
I stare at the handwriting—the slight slant to the right, the way the ink presses harder in places as if she trembled or hesitated.
I read the words again.
Jason, I’m sorry, but I can’t carry this weight any longer. Losing her shattered me in ways I can’t put into words. I’ve tried to be strong—for you, for us—but the pain is relentless, and I can’t see a way forward.
* * *
Please know this isn’t your fault. You gave me everything, but I’ve lost myself in the void she left behind. I hope you find peace someday, even if I couldn’t.
* * *
I’ll love you forever. See you on the other side, babe.
* * *
Lindsay
My eyes moisten, but I don’t cry.
I stopped crying long ago. I couldn’t cry for my dead wife, and the guilt still plagues me. I cried out all my tears for Julia.