The box wasn't new. It wasn't forgotten either. It had simply waited - tucked behind old journals and unopened envelopes, silently resting on a shelf Nora hadn't touched in months. It wasn't labeled or marked or important to anyone but her, and yet when her fingers brushed its edge, something inside her stilled. Not from fear. Not from dread. Just a quiet pull, the kind that tells you this moment matters more than you realize.
She sat on the floor without thinking. The light pouring in from the window was soft and golden, slipping across the hardwood like liquid memory. There were no lamps on, no music. Only the sounds of the late afternoon, the steady hum of the city outside, and the quiet beat of her breath slowing down. She pulled the lid open slowly, as if disturbing something sacred.
Inside: the past. But not the violent kind. The kind that stays gentle even when it hurts.
A photo of Lily, smiling in a hospital bed with wires peeking from beneath her sleeves. Two hospital bracelets. A child's drawing - bright colors, shaky hearts, an ocean, two stick figures labeled "Me" and "You." A folded funeral program she never attended. And one letter.
Lined notebook paper. Folded in four. Her name written in blue pen, the letters tilted and uneven.
For Nora.
Her hands trembled for the first time in weeks. Not from grief. Not from weakness. From love.
She unfolded the page slowly, holding her breath, letting the edges slip free like wings from something buried too long.
Hi Nora,
I don't know if you'll read this, but Mom said I should write it anyway.
Just in case.
Today, I felt okay. Not every day is like that, but this one was. I had pink Jell-O and I didn't cry when they changed the bandage, so I think that's good.
I know you're far away, and I hope you're doing something really cool.
I hope you still love the ocean.
I hope you remember to smile.
If you're reading this, it means you came back.
And that's enough for me.
I love you always.
- Lily
She didn't cry immediately. She folded the letter back gently and pressed it to her chest, eyes closed, spine sinking into the floor. The silence around her didn't ache like it used to. It didn't press against her lungs or tighten around her ribs. It just existed - soft, warm, full of breath and memory.
She stayed there for a long time, listening to nothing, feeling everything.
This wasn't the end she had dreamed of. It wasn't justice with flashing lights or revenge served cold. It was smaller. Quieter. Real.
She had spent so long unraveling the past, hunting truth like it might resurrect something. But in the end, it wasn't truth that saved her. It was choice.
The choice to live without answers.
The choice to breathe without rage.
The choice to remember Lily not in silence, but in color.
She stood and walked to the window. The sky outside had begun to shift soft shades of rose and violet stretching across the city, painting the buildings in light that looked almost like forgiveness.
She didn't think about Westbridge.
She didn't think about Rowan.
She just stood there, letting the last of the day wash over her skin.
And then, without needing a reason...
She smiled.
A real smile.
Small. Steady. Undeniably hers.
End of Book One.