ARIA
The morning after discovering my mother's letter still felt surreal.
I kept the envelope tucked away in the drawer, gently. My mom had known Damian. She had trusted him with something big enough to write that letter. The pieces refused to fit, and every time I tried to force them, my chest tightened with a mix of confusion, and anger.
I spent the morning moving through chores on autopilot, my mind replaying the feel of his hands on my skin, the taste of him, the way he had held me afterward like I was something fragile and precious at the same time. My body still carried faint marks from the night before—little reminders that made heat creep up my neck whenever I thought about them.
I was in the middle of organizing the linen closet when the gate intercom crackled.
"M
