“Daniel, there’s one final thing Nora asked me to give you.”
She reached beneath the leather folder.
This time, she removed a small white envelope.
My name was written across the front.
I recognized the handwriting immediately.
My chest tightened.
It was Nora’s.
I held the envelope for a long time before opening it.
I had kept everything she left behind.
Her favorite sweater.
The little notes she used to leave in my lunch bag.
A grocery list written on the morning she died.
Sometimes I took that list out just to look at her handwriting.
Now there was a letter I had never seen.
A letter she had written knowing I might someday read it without her.
Grandma reached across the table.
“You can read it privately.”
I shook my head.
“It’s okay.”
But as I opened the envelope, I realized it wasn’t okay.
Nothing about that night felt okay.
