Julian was silent.
“And you believed him?”
I looked up.
“I was sixteen.”
The answer came out sharper than I intended.
Not because of him.
Because of the memory.
“At sixteen, you don’t question everything adults tell you. You think parents know the truth. You think they protect you.”
I looked at the note again.
“But something always felt wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
I took a slow breath.
“My mother would never have left without saying goodbye.”
Julian leaned against the wall.
“Maybe she was afraid.”
“Maybe.”
I stared at the handwriting.
“But if she was afraid, why did she come back?”
That was the question that had been haunting me since I opened the note.
Why now?
Why after all these years?
And why had this message been hidden inside my home?
I looked at Julian.
“Did you know this envelope was here?”
“No.”
“Did you ever open that drawer before?”
