Later that night, I drank half a bottle of wine, and found the courage to open the box my dad sent me. I wasn’t particularly interested in digging up memories of my mom. The ones I had were lovely and warm and I didn’t want some weird ancient magic to change that. There were some old photo albums and a few keepsakes I remembered from her. Most of the box was filled with books—maybe journals of some sort. They were all bound in similar leather, and several of them had yellowed pages demonstrating their age. I ruffled through the top one and recognized handwriting from my mom. A letter, addressed to me, fluttered out and fell on the floor.
I held the letter in my hand and stared at it. I was torn. It felt like this letter might unleash a Pandora’s box in my life. Was I ready for the secret
