The envelope has been sitting in the drawer by my bed since that night in the alley. I told myself I would wait for the right moment, that I needed leverage before I opened it. But all day, my mind keeps drifting back to it, like it has its own gravity.
By the time I get home from practice, the apartment is quiet. Mom is still at the shop. I stand in the doorway to my room for a full minute, my bag slipping off my shoulder and thudding onto the floor.
It’s just paper.
My hands still shake as I pull open the drawer.
The envelope is lighter than I expected, but the air around it feels heavier. I sit on my bed and tear the flap. Inside is a folded sheet of notebook paper, the edges worn like it’s been carried around too long.
Connor’s handwriting stares up at me.
If you’re reading this,
