Maura, when you forget I loved you.
That last one made my mother turn away.
I took only the ones with my name.
I did not touch the others.
Those were not mine to take.
In the attic that night, I sat by the sunny window even though it was dark outside.
Mr. Gideon knocked once before entering.
He carried two mugs of tea.
One for me.
One for him.
He never drank tea.
He said it tasted like leaves apologizing for not being coffee.
But he made it anyway.
I handed him the envelope labeled “Vesper, 18.”
“I’m afraid to open it,” I said.
He lowered himself into the old chair across from me.
“Reasonable.”
“What if it makes everything worse?”
“Also reasonable.”
“What if I can’t forgive her?”
He looked at me over his glasses.
“Forgiveness is not a tax bill. It does not arrive with a deadline.”
