CHAPTER 34: The Letters
The basement they’d been squatting in for five days was beginning to feel less like temporary shelter and more like an overcrowded broom closet with judgmental pipes.
Eleanor sat curled on the frayed loveseat, pretending to review carpentry sketches, but in reality her eyes were fixed on the paper trembling in her hand.
The envelope had arrived early that morning. With same unique penmanship.
She unfolded it, heart hammering even though she told herself not to care.
Dear Eleanor,
You haven’t answered any of my letters. Which is probably fair, I wouldn’t talk to me either.
But I’m still writing. I’ll keep writing. I’ll write on your house if I have to.
I miss your voice. Not the yelling, although that’s… weirdly attractive. I mean the part where you go quiet
