Cash. Bundled tightly with rubber bands, some of the bills stained from the damp. Thick stacks of it, more than I could quickly count.
Beneath the cash were envelopes. Inside the envelopes were receipts, handwritten notes, formal contracts, and a small spiral notebook. The notebook was filled page after page with dates, amounts, names of companies, and what looked like careful records of financial transactions over many years.
My thoughts went somewhere dark very quickly.
I sat back on my heels and tried to breathe.
What had my husband been doing?
A Small Cross on Every Page
I looked through the notebook more carefully. The handwriting was Michael’s — neat, deliberate, the way he always wrote when something mattered to him. But what caught my eye was a tiny symbol drawn at the bottom of every single page.
A small cross.
I had no idea what it meant. But it made me pause. It did not look like a criminal code or a hidden message. It looked almost like a personal mark. Like something someone would add out of quiet faith or quiet intention.
I opened another envelope.
Inside were photographs.
Children, young ones, in simple worn clothing, standing in front of a modest building. They were smiling in some of the photos. In others, they were sitting in rows, looking at something beyond the camera.
On the back of one photograph, written in Michael’s hand: San Pedro Community School — Cebu.
I stared at those words for a long time.
The Letter
Recent Articles
The ring you choose reflects your personality.
Pecan Cream Pie
Cases are on the rise
