The next morning, with resolve in my chest and Brad beside me, I drove to Nigel’s house—my past. I needed answers. The place hadn’t changed, but Nigel had—older, sadder. When I asked about Karen, he finally told me she’d moved to Canada a year ago and never got my letters. My heart sank. And then—he remembered. From a drawer, he pulled out a card she’d left for me… a birthday card. From last year.
Unopened. Forgotten. My fingers trembled as I read the words she had once written with love, meant to reach me on my 46th birthday. Rage and heartbreak exploded at once—I had spent a year drowning in guilt, thinking she had erased me, when in reality… she had tried. That single card, creased and yellowed with time, was proof that maybe all hope wasn’t lost. And as I left with Brad’s arm around me and the card pressed to my chest like a lifeline, I knew one thing: this wasn’t the end of the story—it was the beginning of a new chapter.