I sat on the floor, facing 232 neatly arranged letters. Half were from my father, the rest from my brother, John. The earliest were from ten years ago, two months after I had arrived in Northtown. Father and brother each wrote a thick letter, together as voluminous as a dictionary. Letters arrived every month after that, but I found it strange that the envelopes grew thinner each year. Recently, they had become as thin as cards.
I pulled out the earliest letter and opened the envelope. It was from my father.
“My dearest Anne, do you like the manor I gave you? I never told you, but I started building it before you were born. Every plant and tree was personally chosen by me. Have you discovered the surprises I left for you? My beloved Anne…”
My heart softened instantly, filled with warmth
