I know this letter.
Iwrotethis letter.
Every word. Every carefully chosen sentence. I can recite them from memory.
I’d spent weeks on it, knowing it might be the only opportunity I’d get to say what I wanted to.
And now I’m staring at those same words again.
Which could mean only one thing.
“No,” I whisper, my throat tightening.
This doesn’t make sense.
I don’t want it to make sense.
Don’t want to consider that the only reason I’m alive today is because Hayden lost someone.
Because Presley and Jemmy lost someone.
But I need to know.
Despite the voice in my head telling me to forget I ever saw this, I grab the folder and rummage through it.
More letters and cards.
But behind them all, I find a program.
The memorial for Cora Lawrence.
Her photo steals the air from my lungs.
Presley’s eyes stare back at me. Jemmy’s smile.
And then I see her date of death.
The same day as my rebirth, as I call it. The day I received the heart that’s now beating in my chest.
I want to believe it could all be a coincidence, but what other reason would there be for Hayden to have this letter?
There’s only one possible explanation.
Because his wife’s heart beats inside me.
Every sound drops away except the thud in my chest, the rhythm that once belonged to her.
I’d imagined this moment before. Wondered what it would feel like to find out who my donor was.
I never imagined this.
Never imagined loving the children of the woman who saved my life.
Never imagined sleeping under the same roof as the man who lost her.
Never imagined thinking of them as my family.
The sound of the front door slamming shut startles me, snapping me out of my thoughts.
