Etched faintly on the back were two initials: L.T.
My initials.
As I searched the box again, my fingers brushed against folded paper. A letter. My name written in her sharp, unmistakable script.
I hesitated, my pulse quickening. Then, with trembling hands, I opened it.
The Letter I Never Expected
Her words stunned me.
“If you’re reading this, I’m gone. And if you’re reading this, it means I finally grew a spine. I never said it when I should have, but I was wrong about you. All along. And I need to tell you why.”
I couldn’t breathe. This woman, who had only ever judged me, was admitting fault?
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