“She remembered me?”
He nodded.
“She never forgot you.”
“Before I say anything else,” Dennis murmured, “you need to read what Charlotte wrote… the night she disappeared.”
He slid a single envelope across the desk.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
On the front, in that familiar shaky scrawl, it said: “For my brave girl.”
I ran my thumb across the envelope as if it might vanish if I blinked too long. My hands were shaking.
“Do I… open it here?”
He gave a small nod. “If you’d like.”
I slid out a single piece of stationery — lined, faintly yellowed with age.
The handwriting was unmistakably hers.
A bit unsteady at the end.
I read the first line and covered my mouth with my hand to hold in the sob that rose like a wave!
“My dear brave girl, if you’re reading this, then by some miracle, you’ve found your way back to me.”
Continue reading…
