Lily Thompson
I couldn’t stop staring at the envelope.
Even after Isabella climbed into the back seat, chattering about how her teacher had praised her drawing in class, even after Ryan buckled her in and started driving, even after the rice sat half-eaten in my lap, the envelope lay there like it weighed more than the car itself.
I wanted to throw it out the window. I wanted to rip it into tiny pieces. I wanted to pretend it didn’t exist.
But I couldn’t.
Because whatever was inside had already cracked open a hole in my chest, and ignoring it wouldn’t patch me back together.
“Mommy, are you okay?” Isabella’s little voice floated forward.
I forced a smile in the rearview mirror. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”
Her eyes, too much like mine, studied me for a second before she went back to pul
