At 82, I Found

For three days, Frank barely ate.

He moved through the house carrying one diary at a time. He read in the kitchen, in the den, in the bedroom. Sometimes he whispered, “Maggie,” as if she might answer from the next room.

On the fourth day, he found the final notebook.

Its cover read:

For after.

Inside, the first page held a letter.

Frank,
If you are reading continue reading …