The air in the attic feels heavy, thick with dust and the weight of old memories. I sit cross-legged on the floor, the letter trembling in my hands. It’s felt like years since I’ve seen her handwriting. My mom. Even the sight of her neat, slanted letters is enough to send a wave of emotions crashing over me—grief, anger, confusion.
I force myself to focus, to read the letter again even though every word cuts deeper than the last.
Dear Richard,
By the time you read this, I may already be gone... or too far gone to explain. So, I’m writing this letter, not for you to forgive me, but for me to make some kind of peace before it’s too late.
I need to start by saying how sorry I am. Not just for the cheating, though that’s bad enough, but for everything that came before and after. I was self
