I found a sealed envelope tucked inside an old photo album, addressed to me in Dylan’s handwriting from more than thirty years earlier, and my hands began to shake before I even opened it.
“Dylan,” I said, my voice already unsteady. “You need to come here right now.”
He walked in from the hallway where our grandchildren were spreading photo albums across the floor. Emma held up a picture of Hope as a baby. “Grandma, is this Mom when she was little?”
“Yes, baby,” I answered, still staring at the envelope. “Dylan, look at this.”
He sat beside me on the couch. “What did you find?”
I held it out. “This was hidden behind the photo from Hope’s first birthday. It’s addressed to me. In your handwriting. From a long time ago.”
His expression shifted. “I forgot that was still there.”
Lucas lo
