The Letter I Didn’t Open
POV: Diana
The envelope sat on the vanity untouched.
White. Crisp. Perfectly sealed with a wax mark that shimmered under the moonlight, not a symbol, just a smooth press like the curve of a thumb. My name stared up at me in lettering so delicate it looked like it had been breathed onto the paper instead of written.
I didn’t touch it.
I didn’t move.
Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed in Cameron’s oversized T-shirt, my knees drawn to my chest, and stared at him as he slept.
There was something almost cruel about how peaceful he looked. One arm bent under the pillow the other draped carelessly over the spot where I usually lay. His lashes were soft against his cheek. His chest rose and fell with a rhythm that had become the music of my safety.
And I knew.
