And an envelope.
Not new. Not crisp.
Yellowed slightly at the edges like it’d been handled, then hidden, then handled again.
My name was on the front.
Tessa.
No last name. No address. Just my name, in Ray’s handwriting.
My lungs stalled.
For a second, I couldn’t move, like my body didn’t trust what my eyes were telling it. Heat rose under my skin, then drained away so fast my fingers went cold.
I took the envelope out like it might bite.
It was thick, more than a single sheet. The paper inside pressed against the flap.
I sat down at the table again without remembering the steps between the drawer and the chair. My hands hovered over the envelope, and my heart started doing that awful thing where it beat too hard and too fast like it was trying to escape.
I stared at my own name until the letters swam.
“Of course,” I whispered, because what else could I say? “Of course, you wrote a letter.”
My fingers trembled as I slid a nail under the flap and tore it open. The rip sounded obscene in the quiet kitchen, too loud, too final, like I was tearing through something that was supposed to stay sealed.
Inside were three pages, folded carefully, and a smaller slip of paper tucked behind them.
I didn’t look at the slip yet.
I unfolded the first page.
Ray’s handwriting met me like a fist and a hand at the same time. Uneven, slanted, pressure heavy enough to leave grooves.
Tess,
If you’re reading this, then I didn’t get the chance to say this out loud, and I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for a lot, but I’m not good at saying it when there’s air and eyes and time moving.Paper’s easier. Always was.
I swallowed so hard my throat burned.
My vision blurred. I blinked hard and forced myself to keep reading.
I know you’re mad at me. You’ve got every right. I left you too much to carry and not enough warning. I told myself I was sparing you, but the truth is I was sparing myself the look on your face if you knew how bad it’d gotten. Pride’s a disease in men like me. It doesn’t kill you all at once, it just eats the good parts first.
My chest tightened. I pressed the heel of my palm to my sternum like I could hold my ribs in place.
He kept going.
You’ve got a choice to make, and I won’t pretend you don’t. You can sell. You can stay. Either way, I need you to hear this plainly.
None of this was ever supposed to be a chain around your neck.
I breathed in, and it shuddered on the way out.
My fingers gripped the page too hard, the paper bending slightly under the pressure.
I made this place because I didn’tknow how to make anything else. I loved it because it gave me work, quiet, and something I could fix with my own two hands. But I never wanted it to be the thing that kept you from having a life.
