The paper tore softly.
It was such an ordinary sound.
Barely louder than the wind brushing against the windows.
Yet it seemed to fill the apartment.
Lena remained where she was.
She did not move closer.
She did not speak.
Some moments belonged entirely to the person living them, and love sometimes meant knowing when your presence was enough without your intervention.
Damien looked down at the envelope in his hands.
He drew out a single folded sheet.
The paper had yellowed slightly with age.
He unfolded it carefully.
His mother's handwriting covered both sides in neat blue ink.
He stared at the first line for several seconds before he began to read.
Silence settled over the room.
Lena watched only his face.
Not the letter.
Never the letter.
His eyes moved slowly across the
