the creases worn.
“A letter,” he said. “Written thirty-one years ago, by a woman named Angela. She asked me to give it to you when the time was right.”
He extended it toward me.
My fingers trembled as I took it.
I unfolded it.
My dearest Kelsey…
The rest of the room disappeared.
I read every word. Apology. Love. Fear. A young mother dying of cancer, trying continue reading …