Fourty-Seven

The house had never felt so quiet.

After the sound of car doors shutting, luggage being loaded, and tires rolling off the driveway, silence settled over the Blake residence like a thick, invisible fog.

Evelyn stood frozen in the middle of the living room. Betty had long stormed off upstairs, slamming her door behind her. But Evelyn remained—still and suddenly… hollow.

Her eyes slowly moved to the small black box Crystal had left on the table. It felt heavier now, more significant.

Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for it. She sat down slowly, untying the ribbon carefully, almost nervously, like something inside might explode and pierce straight through her chest.

She opened it.

Inside lay a neatly folded letter, tucked over a small bracelet—a simple charm bracelet with the word “Grace” engraved on the centerpiece.

With slow fingers, Evelyn unfolded the letter. Her breath caught when she saw Crystal’s handwriting, smooth and graceful. Then she began to read.

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Dear Mom,

I ne