Page 97 of Snapshot

That innocent little baby deserves a mother who cares and a father who protects it.

What life did we choose, Jacob? We thought we were giving Melody the life she deserved. We chose wrong. She deserved us…together. Parents who loved each other. Poor, happy,and madly in love. That’s what we should’ve given our daughter.

See, when I told you I was struggling with forgiveness…it wasn’t about Harrison. It was about me. That’s why my life is so complicated, Jacob. It’s because I’m living the wrong one.

And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive myself.

-Dottie

P.S. Love doesn’t seem like a big enough word, but I love you. Always.

I reread the letter two more times to make sure I didn’t miss anything. My heart is racing as my brain connects the dots and fills in the half-drawn picture. Flipping through the letters, I’m frustrated to learn that Dottie didn’t date any of these. All the envelopes are unmarked.

I open a few more and read manically, trying to gather more context—anything to contradict what I read first. But the rest of the letters are a little less scandalous. Some of the envelopes include Polaroids with captions.Melody’s first time at the zoo. Melody’s first spelling bee. Melody’s first car. Melody, six months pregnant.Basically, this box is a memoir. Dottie trying to document parenthood and save a piece of his family for him. A snapshot of the life they were supposed to have together.

She never got a chance to send these. Jacob missed everything.

He died never knowing how much she still loved him.

27

Lennox

There are two minutes before my meeting is supposed to start and nobody is here in the conference room. Dex was supposed to meet me first, but I would not be surprised if his prior meeting ran late. I suppose I need to get used to him being tied up.

One pleasant surprise in this room is the large espresso machine resting on the built-in countertop and shelves. One of my many underappreciated talents is actually knowing how to work an espresso machine, thanks to my brief time as a barista. I’ll admit, in a day and age where there’s a Starbucks on every block, knowing how to work an espresso machine is a pretty useless skill, but finally, here is my moment to shine.

Maybe I can win over the board by making everyone a perfect latte. Except there’s no milk… Okay, fine. Americano then.

I try to flick on the power switch, but it doesn’t turn on. After toggling it on and off to no avail several more times, I contort my body, bending over the counter. My feet come off the ground as I try to examine the small slit between the back of the machine and the wall, in case it’s come unplugged.

“That’s really just for show,” says a woman’s voice from the meeting room entrance. Planting my sensible heels back on the ground and straightening my skirt, I turn to see a young, tan woman leaning against the doorway, her arms crossed. “I saw you through the window, and it looked like you were struggling. That machine is décor. It won’t turn on for you. I just made a pot in the breakroom down the hall, though. You’re more than welcome to partake.”

She gives me a pitiful smile. Her thick, dark hair is braided neatly to the side. She’s wearing a form-fitting navy business dress that accentuates her generous curves.

I point to the little espresso cups that are flipped over and lined neatly next to the machine. “A little deceiving. Why have cups here if you can’t actually make coffee?”

She laughs. “I’d need a whole day to explain to you the pointless things we have to do at this office. Are you new here?”

“Yes. New and clueless, apparently.” I cross the room with my hand outstretched. “I’m Lennox. Nice to meet you.”

“I’m Spencer. I’m the coffee-copy girl.”

I screw up my face in confusion. “The what?”

“The coffee-copy girl.” She sighs. “I think it started off as a joke. But now I’m pretty sure it’s on my actual personnel file. Some of the managers around here have a funny sense of humor.”

“Being?”

“I’m sort of stuck in a forever internship. My freshman year, I took a paid internship as an office assistant. My job was to make copies. I’m graduating this coming spring, so a few months ago, I made my pitch for an official role. My manager, Casey gave me a fifty-cent an hour raise, then promoted me to copyandcoffee girl. Super condescending.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, I was warned that this entire office was filled with middle-aged men who know more about cigars than their jobs.”

She chuckles. “Pretty accurate. There are a few exceptions…”

This woman’s smile is genuine, though. Unlike with Kat, the hairs on the back of my neck are unbothered. I sense no danger here.

“Such as?”

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