Melinda’s POV
The letter arrived with no fanfare.
No courier. No email. No phone call. Just an envelope, tucked into the stack of nonprofit mail on my desk at the Initiative.
It was handwritten.
Cream paper.
Familiar looping cursive.
My throat tightened before I even opened it.
Because I recognized the signature at the bottom before I read the words at the top.
Margot Holt.
Andrew’s mother.
My children’s grandmother.
Dear Melinda,
I’m writing because I believe it’s time.
Time for truths that were buried too long.
Time for things I should have said.
I would like to meet.
No photographers. No lawyers. Just us.
I understand if you decline. But please know — I don’t want to rewrite the past. I only want you to know what really happened.
— Margot
I read it twice.
Then a thir
