The letter sat where she had left it, its red seal catching the light like a wound that refused to close.
Hours had passed since Leonard handed it to her, yet Serena had not moved.
The house had fallen quiet.
From below came the faint sound of the clock striking five; Emily's laughter drifted faintly through the parlor window, speaking with one of the neighbors in low, kind tones.
Ordinary life.
A mockery of it, really.
Serena sat at her small writing desk, staring at the folded paper as if it were alive.
Charlton's handwriting — bold, slanted, elegant — was unchanged. The sight of it had once made her smile. Now, it made her hands tremble.
She thought she'd forgotten that part of him — the careful precision of every letter, the measured restraint that hid everything he could not say aloud.
He'd written to her before, many times, years ago, when they were still everything to each other.
The wax bore his family's sigil — the lion and the star — stamped cleanly.
