The Letter from the Past
Then, last winter, something shifted. I was in the attic, searching for decorations that always seemed to vanish as soon as I unpacked them.
Dust motes danced in the narrow beams of sunlight streaming through the attic window. I reached for an old yearbook on the top shelf, and a slim, yellowed envelope slipped out, landing softly at my feet.
My full name was written across the front. In her handwriting.
I sat down among the boxes, ornaments, and forgotten photographs, my hands shaking as I opened it. The letter was dated December 1991. I had never seen it before.
