At my brother’s funeral, I expected grief, not a letter that would change my life.The chapel was filled with mourners, but something felt off. My parents exchanged strange glances, their sadness mingled with unease. Eric’s widow, Laura, approached me after the service, pressing an envelope into my hands.

“He wanted you to have this,” she said.At home, I hesitated before opening it. Eric had never been expressive, but he had always been there—silent, steady, watching. The letter inside, written in his familiar scrawl, revealed a truth I never saw coming: