The late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains of Lila’s apartment, casting long, golden geometric shapes across the wooden floorboards. It was a rare, quiet Sunday—a brief respite between the grueling double-session practices Ryker was enduring at the rink and Lila’s mountain of midterm coursework.
Lila sat at her desk, her notebook open, but her attention was drawn to a heavy cream-colored envelope resting beside her laptop.
There was no return address label, no printed stamp from an office. Just her name and address written in dark blue ink. The handwriting was loose, slightly unsteadied by a faint tremor, yet unmistakable.
It was David’s.
Lila stared at the envelope for a long minute, her breath catching slightly in her throat. Her thumb gently stroked the corner of the
