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| Day 72 out of 3652 |
"Can I open it?" I ask Momma J, my voice barely above a whisper, as we sit on her bed, staring at the thick yellow envelope resting in the middle of the floral comforter.
"Not yet, baby. Lawrence said to wait for him to get home before we touch anything," She replies, glancing at her phone. Her voice is calm, but there's a tension in the air, an unspoken anxiety we both share. After Detective Nolan handed me the envelope, I didn't waste any time getting to Momma J, finding her in her room with a book in her hands. Lawrence had to rush out for an emergency meeting with a client, so we've been sitting here, waiting for his return.
"I just need to know what's inside," I sigh, my mind racing with a thousand possibilities. Detective Nolan said Chris dropped this off the night everything went down with the Irish. It's like he knew something terrible was coming. That realization tears at me, knowing Chris must have felt that weight pressing down on him even before it all fell apart. It hurts knowing he was preparing for the worst while I had no idea.
The sound of the front door slamming snaps me out of my thoughts. Lawrence walks in, his steps heavy. He is still in his suit but is already shrugging his jacket off. "I'm home," He announces, his voice tight with stress.
Momma J rises, taking his jacket and hanging it up with her usual care, but I can't wait any longer. "Okay, I'm opening it. I can't sit here anymore, I say, reaching for the envelope, but before I can grab it, Lawrence steps forward and gently stops me with a hand on my wrist.
"Hold up, Amarie. Let me open it. We don't know what's in there... and honestly, I don't trust this Detective Nolan," Lawrence says, his brow furrowed as his eyes lock on the envelope like it's some kind of threat.
I nod, watching anxiously as he takes the envelope and slowly tears it open with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. His hands move carefully, sliding out the contents. A couple of USB drives fall out first, along with papers that look like legal documents, and a few neat stacks of cash. But what grabs my attention is the white envelope with For Amarie's Eyes Only scrawled across the front in Chris' unmistakable handwriting.
My heart skips a beat as I grab it. "This is for me..." I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
I tear it open, my fingers trembling as I pull out the single-page letter. The sight of Chris's familiar handwriting sends a wave of emotion crashing over me. Tears blur my vision as I notice the faint watermarks on the paper—dried spots that must have been his tears. Chris, my freckles. The thought breaks something deep inside me.
I blink away the tears and begin to read.
Amarie,
I love you. I love you. I love you.
I'm sorry. I know I've disappointed you, and the only reason you're reading this is because I'm either dead or locked up. I'm so sorry, baby. I could sit here and blame the life, the people, the streets but I know deep down, it's on me. It's always been on me.
