Two

By the time we got home, it was dark. All I could think about was sleep, but the letter burned in my mind. The kids scattered; Henry tugged off his shoes, and Carly talked a mile a minute. I made my way to the kitchen, trying to calm my nerves.

“Hey, I got dinner!” Natasha called, walking through the door of our shared three-bedroom apartment.

The apartment had been our dream from the moment Henry turned three. He needed his own space, his own little world, and we’d worked tirelessly to save enough to upgrade from the tiny two-bedroom we’d shared for the first two years of his life. It wasn’t fancy, but it was ours, and it felt like home.

“Did you hear me? I got pizza!” Natasha said again, her voice rising with mock impatience.

“Oh, thanks,” I replied, stepping out of the kitchen. The letter was still in my hand.

“What’s that?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she spotted it.

“I got a letter,” I said, my voice hesitant.

“Yeah, I can see that. What’s it about?” she pressed, her tone curious.

“I don’t know.” I sat on the couch, the letter balanced between my fingers like it might bite.

Natasha plopped down beside me, pizza forgotten for the moment. “Well, open it. Or should I do it for you?”

I glanced at her, then back at the letter. My hands shook slightly as I opened it. Whatever was inside, it was time to face it. I stared at the letter. “Whatever’s in here… It’s from my past, from Pittstown.”

She leaned closer, her smile soft but understanding. “I get it. Why don’t we just leave the letter on the table and think about it tomorrow?” I turned to her, the weight of the letter still in my hand. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

Before she could respond, Henry and Carly burst into the room, their laughter filling the space as they ran toward us.

“Hi, Mama! Hi, Aunties!” they chirped in unison. Natasha stood, her hands on her hips, and said, “Alright, you two. Why don’t you give your mama a moment? Go wash up, and I’ll get dinner ready.”

She turned back to me and added, “Go to your room, sit down, and read the letter. I’ll handle the kids, get them fed, and we can discuss it afterward. No pressure.”

I nodded, gratitude warming my chest. “Thank you,” I whispered, leaning in to kiss Henry on top of his head and hug Carly tightly.

With the letter in hand, I walked to my bedroom and closed the door. Silence blanketed me, but uncertainty lingered. I tossed the letter onto my bed and stepped into the bathroom.

Turning on the faucet, I splashed cool water on my face, letting it run down my skin as I stared into the mirror. My hair, now long and full, framed my face. It had taken years to grow out, a personal victory after everything I’d been through. I sighed, pulling my fingers through it before tying it back loosely.

Returning to the bedroom, I sat on the bed, staring at the envelope. Slowly, I slid to my knees and reached for it. The envelope’s edges were worn, the paper thick beneath my fingertips.

I tore it open carefully with my nail, the faint sound of the paper ripping echoing in the quiet room. Inside, there was a folded letter and something heavier—a document of some kind. 

My pulse pounded in my ears. As I pulled them out, my hands shook. The world blurred. Then I saw a name: Susan. I stopped breathing for a moment. In that instant, a vivid memory surfaced, bringing with it the familiar scents and warmth of her kitchen. I could almost hear her soft voice reciting bedtime stories just the way I remembered, her gentle whispers soothing me to sleep. The cherished memory made the reality of the letter even more jarring. I swallowed hard and forced myself to read, but the first sentence hit me like a punch to the gut.

“I’m dying, Annabelle.”

I gasped, covering my mouth. Tears burned in my eyes, blurring the words. A strangled sob escaped before I could stop it. I tried to breathe, to steady myself, but every word dug deeper.

“I have cancer.”

No.

My fingers tightened around the paper, wishing I could change the truth just by holding it. Susan, my anchor and second mother, was slipping away, and I hadn’t been there. A sharp inhale. A swipe of my sleeve across my wet cheeks. I forced myself to keep reading, but the words only shattered me further.

A building.

The tears came harder.

“I know how much you’ve always loved books… It’s yours now.”

I placed the letter on my lap and pressed my hands to my face, sobbing quietly. How could she think of me like this, even now, when she was the one facing the end? Her love and generosity were too much.

After what felt like forever, I drew in a deep breath and picked up the envelope again. There was something else inside - a second letter and a thick stack of papers. I slid them out carefully.

The second letter was typed, crisp and formal. My hands shook as I unfolded it.

Dear Annabelle

I remember when you would come home to my house and greet me with such a smile that would warm my heart, filling me with peace and pride. You are gone now, and everything feels a little bit sadder, but I’m okay. I’m alright. I feel fine.

I had to literally, literally beg your mother to give me your address. I told her not to tell you that I would send you a letter at my own time. But it seems like time is running out for me.

I would love it if you came. I have a little gift for you. I saved enough, and I got a building. It’s in your name. I want you to be happy, Annabelle, and I wish you would one day come back to town. I know that not many good things happened to you here, but I want you to know that your family is here. We are waiting.

With all my love,

Susan.

P.S. When you come, I would love a very big hug from you.

I pressed the letter to my chest, holding it there as if Susan’s presence might reach me. The weight of her love pressed down on me.

Natasha’s voice startled me from the other room. “Kids are fed, and Carly’s already nodding off. Are you okay there?”

I sniffled, wiping my tears quickly. “Yeah,” I called back, though my voice cracked. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I looked at the letter one last time, then carefully folded it and placed it back in the envelope with the deed.

Susan had given me a gift I wasn’t sure I was ready to accept. I felt honored and overwhelmed by her trust in me. But one thing was clear: I couldn’t ignore the feeling that I needed to go back to Pittstown.