I stared at the words.
The message was followed by a photograph of a sealed envelope, its paper yellowed at the edges.
My name was written across the front in my mother’s handwriting.
Alexander’s next message arrived a moment later.
My father kept it with the old clinic papers.
I don’t know why it was in his possession.
My hand tightened around the phone.
Daniel was still speaking, asking me to send him a picture of the address book page, but his voice
seemed to recede.
I looked at the photograph of the envelope again.
My mother’s handwriting was unmistakable.
And the envelope had been addressed to me.
Part 4 – The Letter That Was Kept
I stared at the photograph of the envelope until the words on its front blurred.
My mother’s handwriting was unmistakable, though the letters had grown faint with time.
“Don’t open it,” I said.
