After that came envelopes. Dozens of them. All addressed to Liam.
Then photographs. A courthouse picture. A sonogram. A hospital bracelet. A tiny photo of a baby in yellow.
Finally, one sealed envelope fell near my foot.
On the front, Livia had written:
Mom — only if she can listen.
I screamed.
John found me on the floor twenty minutes later, surrounded by letters.
I held up the dress.
“She wasn’t taken,” I whispered.
John picked up the courthouse photo.
“Mitchell?”
“They’re married,” I said.
I opened the first letter with shaking hands.
Livia had written to Liam, asking him not to hate her. She had changed out of her dress after prom and begged him to hide it before I saw it. She wrote that she knew I would assume the worst.
But she had chosen to leave.
Another letter said Mitchell had begged her to call me.
