The envelope sat in my palm like something alive, pulsing with secrets I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. Mrs. Calloway’s words still echoed through my head.
“Your father wanted you to have this.”
I stood there in her office, unable to speak, unable to even breathe normally. My hands were shaking as I stared at the envelope’s edges, yellowed, soft, and familiar.
My mother’s handwriting.
I knew it instantly. I’d recognize those looping curves anywhere. She used to write little notes and tuck them in my lunchbox. Have courage, sweetheart. You shine everywhere you go. Never let fear decide your future.
I swallowed hard.
“My mother wrote this?” My voice cracked.
Mrs. Calloway gave a slow nod, her eyes unreadable. “Your father gave it to me years ago. Told me to protect it. Told me to give
