The first letter arrived on a Monday morning. I was folding laundry in our cramped apartment when the soft thud of the mailbox startled me. Jason was still half-asleep on the couch, his messy hair falling into his eyes.
I walked to the door, expecting another bill or some generic advertisement, but the envelope was thick, cream-colored, and addressed to both of us. The handwriting was unmistakable—Mom’s.
I froze for a moment, my fingers brushing the paper as if it might burn me. Jason stirred, blinking sleep from his eyes.
“What is it?” he murmured.
I held it out. “It’s… from Mom.”
He sat up, rubbing his face with one hand, and took the envelope from me. There was a pause as he turned it over in his hands, his expression unreadable. Finally, he tore it open, unfolding the letter caref
