Chapter 30

We dress quickly and rush down the stairs. No one has the new code. The delivery drivers couldn’t make it through the gate, nor could anyone else. It’s literally impossible for anyone to be here right now.

I’m still running my hands through my hair when Cole opens the door, and we spot Jane, Lily, and Cate standing there. It feels weird seeing them now when I’ve been reading so much about them in Vera’s journal.

Do I tell them what I know? That we found Vera’s journal? Do I tell them about the letters? Or do I pretend nothing has changed?

“Hey, ladies,” Cole says, his voice deep and gravelly as if he’s been sleeping.

They must’ve watched as I changed the code yesterday with their help.

“Can we come in?” Jane asks. “We need to talk to you about something serious.”

The weight her voice carries makes my heart sink. Something’s wrong.

Cole and I both mumble some variation of yes and of course and step back, allowing the women inside. They lead the way toward the sitting room, and we all take our seats, just like we did with Edna.

Once we’re seated, Jane reaches into her purse. “I have something for you.”

Before I can ask what she means or process what she’s said, she produces an envelope that I recognize well. I stare at her outstretched hand, at the thick, brown paper. This one, like the first, has a red ribbon around it and is labeled with the number six. The final secret.

My gasp catches in my throat, eyes narrowing on her. “It was you.”

She doesn’t respond and simply taps the letter. “We’ll explain, but first, you should read it.”

All of the women are staring at me with unreadable expressions as I tear into the envelope with shaking hands. What will be the final, terrible secret? Why is Jane telling me all of this? Why did she write the letters?

I pull the letter from the envelope and unfold it, staring down at the paper. Confusion ricochets through me. “I don’t…” I can’t finish the sentence, can’t make sense of what I’m seeing. Inside the envelope, I don’t find the same font that has been used in all of the other letters. This time, as Cole leans over my shoulder to read the letter alongside me, I find the familiar large, loopy lettering of a handwriting I know by heart.

Bridget,

I hope you’ll forgive me for the theatrics. Please know this wasn’t done to torture you, but so you could hear an unbiased account of everything I’ve done.

So you could process everything, piece by piece. It is a lot to take in, and I know, had I chosen to tell you everything at once, how overwhelming it would’ve been.

By now, you know my secrets. You know that I was not a good person. That I was a murderer. That my choices are the reason your parents are dead. I could say ‘I’m sorry’ a hundred thousand times, and while it would be no less true, it would never be enough.

It has been the honor of my life to watch you grow up, my child. To love you from afar even when I had to keep you at arm’s length. I hope someday you’ll be able to accept, if not understand, why I did that. The day I sent you away was as painful as the day I lost Harold, and the day I lost your mother. Maybe more so because this time I had a choice. I’ll never know if I made the wrong one. I saved lives, oh yes, but it came at the expense of your childhood, of your happiness and security, and if you never forgive me for that, I couldn’t blame you.

When I knew I had little time left, I prepared these letters for you. I gave them to the women I trust most in the world—the women who are (hopefully) handing this to you now. Jane, Cate, and Lily are women you can trust with all your secrets, as I’ve always trusted them with mine. They will take care of you in a way that I no longer can, in a way I never truly could. I know you don’t need that, my dear, but it gives me a sense of peace to think about you spending time with them. To think about you not being alone.

And speaking of alone, I hope you’ll understand why I left the house to both you and Cole. Bitter House has always been yours, Bridget, always. But I knew losing me would come with a mixed bag of feelings, and stubbornly, I wanted to know you didn’t have to deal with that on your own. I know you’ve had your issues with Cole in the past, but Cole and Edna are some of the only other people in the world I’d trust with you.

There are too many secrets out there. Too much danger. Keep your circle small. If there’s any advice I can give you, it’s that.

With the letters, I wanted you to finally have all the facts. I hoped you would wait to call the police until you knew everything, but I also knew you might not and that was a consequence we were all willing to deal with. The only bodies I told you about, the two in the garden—Don and the man who killed your parents—were ones that could be traced back to me and me alone. My friends would protect Edna, swear she couldn’t have known about Don’s murder. I also told them they could give you the letters sooner than just once per day if they worried you were dealing with too much stress.

Because this is stressful, my darling, and I’m sorry to pass that torch to you. These are the secrets that eat away at you, and they are not your burden to bear. It is selfish of me to ask.

So, if you choose to walk away from it all, please know you have my blessing. But I hope you’ll hear me out when I ask you to consider staying. To consider making Bitter House your home.

You don’t have to hurt anyone, I want to make that clear. I would never ask that of you.

Jane, Cate, and Lily will take care of the men. They’ll continue the legacy we built for as long as they are able. But your job, my darling, is that of the secret keeper. And not just my secrets, but the secrets of the many, many women we have saved. The children. The families.

If you leave Bitter House, if you sell or move away, things could be uncovered. Bodies, of course, but evidence too. The tunnels, the secrets kept in the walls. There are things hidden in Bitter House that could hurt good people if they’re ever found by the wrong people. Though I am gone and can’t be hurt anymore, there are women still out there, still alive and well, who are counting on you to protect them.

If I’d given the house to Jenn, she would’ve sold it. Without question. We’ve been offered ridiculous amounts of money to sell the house and land to developers, but doing so would have devastating results. This house in anyone else’s hands would be disastrous.

It has to be you. I hope it will be you, my B.

It is a lonely, brutal task, to be the secret keeper, but one that I trust you can do with the grace of a Bitter. Because that’s what you are, Bridget. That’s what you will always be, regardless of the choice you make today. And I’ve left you in the good hands of Cole so you won’t be alone. I suppose you could say I’m playing matchmaker, if you want to indulge me, but the truth is, I understand better than anyone how isolating this job can be. I did it alone for many years, even surrounded by my dearest friends.

I don’t want that for you. I want you to love and be loved, Bridget, and even if that’s not in the cards for the two of you, I like the idea of having someone around to protect you like he always protected me.

I am sorry for everything I ever did to hurt you. I hope you can understand why I made the choices I did, why I thought I was protecting you, though I’d never be so bold as to ask for your forgiveness. You don’t owe me your forgiveness, darling. Or your understanding. Or your love, but you have always had mine.

Bitter House is yours now. Both of yours.

Take care of her and take care of yourselves. And if you ever decide to do what I have done, to spend your lives protecting others, the girls will show you the ropes. Keep my garden beautiful for me, will you?

I love you, my darling.

Yours forever,

Your grandmother

Vera Evelyn Bitter

P.S. There is a logbook in a vent in the ceiling of my closet. Please give it to Jane for safekeeping if you don’t wish to have it. They will protect you with everything they have. None of this will fall on you should you choose to walk away. It will always be your choice.

When I stop reading, it takes me several seconds to look up. My vision is blurred with tears, the page now sprinkled with teardrops. When I meet the eyes of the women before me, I have no idea what to say.

“Your grandmother was a hero,” Jane says, leaning forward over her knees. Something in her words snaps in my brain, and suddenly, I remember why I know her name. Jane from the newspaper.

“You wrote Vera’s obituary.”

She nods, tears filling her own eyes. The women on either side of her grasp her hands. “We knew she wouldn’t have family to do it, and we understood why, but we couldn’t let her pass away without honoring her in the only way we could. She was selfless, Bridget. And kind. She wanted to make the world better in the only way she knew how. And she deserved to have that truth out there for the world, even if they couldn’t know the whole truth.”

Cole slides his hand into mine, lacing our fingers together. For the first time in my entire life, I feel like I understand my grandmother. Maybe I don’t agree with the way she handled things, but I do understand why she did it. And, if she hadn’t, this man sitting next to me, the man who has protected me and stood up for me in ways I never knew about for my whole life, might not be here.

Vera was a lot of things—complicated and confusing and cold—but she was also a hero. She saved and protected and healed women and children in ways I will never know about. If that isn’t using your power for the right causes, I’m not sure I know what is.

“We’ll stay,” I manage to choke out. “At Bitter House. I want to stay.” I glance over at Cole, who nods, his dark eyes locking with mine in a way that tells me he’s with me no matter what. That we’re in this together, just like we’ve always been.

“Absolutely.”

All three women give us knowing smiles, as if they never expected any different. And maybe they didn’t. I have no idea if I want to be involved in any of this. But what I do know is that I will protect Bitter House’s secrets with my life.

I’m a Bitter, after all. It’s my legacy.