Wednesday, November 16, 5:14 AM. Garrett.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m writing this while waiting for Dad to get back from town. I’m writing it in case I die and don’t get to tell you anything. I’ll leave it here on my bed so that you’ll find it.

I’m sorry I got sick. I don’t think I did anything wrong but I’m sorry it’s causing you so much trouble.

If I die don’t blame yourself. I won’t blame you for not being able to do what no one got you ready to do. I’m thankful that you care about me and are brave enough to try. Don’t blame yourself. It’s okay.

Don’t blame each other. Not for this, not for anything. I know you’ve been mad at each other. I know you had an affair, Mom. I could tell because you started to act real different last spring, and then I could tell that you and Dad were talking about things like that in the summer. I was mad at you about it. But Dad doesn’t blame you, so I stopped blaming you too. Claire and Trevor don’t know so much but they feel it. They need you to love each other so you can love them. If I die, you have to stop blaming each other.

I can hear Dad’s car.

I’m nervous. But it’ll be okay.

Love,

Garrett