I looked at it. My name was written across the front in June’s handwriting, shakier than I remembered it from her old letters, but unmistakably hers. The G looped the same way it had on the notes she used to slip into my locker.
May you like
“There’s a part of Mom’s story you never got to hear. She left this for you and made me promise not to give it to you until she was gone.”
My hands weren’t steady. I worked my thumb under the flap and tore it open. Inside was a single sheet of lined paper, folded in
