The envelope sat unopened on my desk for hours.
I stared at it like it might explode. Like touching it would make it real.
The handwriting was unmistakably Rachel’s—tight, deliberate, almost angry even on paper. I’d folded it once, then again, and then again, before finally flattening it out beside my keyboard, daring it to make the first move.
Raymond came in with Miranda asleep on his shoulder, Her hair was a mess of soft curls, and she clung to him like ivy.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, careful not to jostle her.
I didn’t answer right away.
Finally, I said, “She wants us to finish what they started.”
He glanced at the envelope, then back at me. “Do you?”
I wanted to say no. That would have been easier. Safer. But my silence was already an answer.
That night, I didn’t sleep. I
