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The letter was tucked halfway under the door when Raine returned home.
She bent to pick it up, expecting one of the usual things– extra lesson requests, bills, maybe another passive-aggressive note from the mayor’s wife about the lack of decor on her front lawn– but the moment she turned it over, she froze.
The envelope was off-white, the paper thick and textured. The name written in soft, looping script wasn’t hers, not even close.
Miss Elysia Matthews.
It didn’t take her long to recognize it: the previous schoolteacher, whom she’d only heard of in passing. The one who used to occupy the house she now called home.
She stared at the correspondence longer than she meant to, admiring the way the ink curled lovingly over each letter, like someone had taken their time and practiced for hours to get it just right. It smelled faintly of lavender and something older, like cedar.
There was no return address, just a postage stamp so faded it was barely legible. The date read eight years ago . Somehow, impossibly, this letter had only just found its way here.
Honestly, she should’ve left it alone, tossed it in the trash to vanish into the past like the woman it was meant for. But something about the elegant handwriting kept her rooted in place and held her curiosity captive.
Carefully, she broke the seal.
My dearest Ellie,
It snowed today! Your father finally got around to fixing the chimney, so the whole house smells like ash and pine bark. It made me think of that winter when you were six and you swore you could taste snow in the air.
We miss you more than we can say. Your father keeps rereading the last letter you sent. He’s got half of it memorized now, though he pretends not to.
I hope the children are being kind to you. I know it’s not always easy, starting over in a new village. But they’re lucky to have you. You were always so patient, even with your little cousins when they wouldn’t stop tugging at your apron strings.
Come home when you can. There’ll always be a place for you here. Always.
Love,
Momma
The words blurred. Raine wasn’t sure when it started– just that one blink too many had turned everything to water.
She wiped at her cheek, only to find the tears had already fallen.
She hadn’t cried in years.
Not since she was twelve and starving, curled up with Genis in an alleyway, too scared to sleep, but also too exhausted to keep going. That was the last time she remembered letting herself ache for them– the people who should have been with her, protecting her, guiding her through life.
Her parents.
Her mother had hands that always smelled faintly of dried herbs. Her father had a laugh that shook the walls. Or at least– she thought he did. But the memories of them had faded over time, and their faces were fuzzy now– blurry around the edges, like old, unmaintained paintings faded by the sun and the passing of time. She’d clung to the sound of her parents' voices for years, desperate to keep it alive, however she wasn’t sure anymore if what she heard in her head was real, or just something she’d made up along the way.
She missed them.
Goddess, she missed them.
The sob hit without warning.
One moment she was standing, and the next her knees had buckled beneath her. She curled in on herself on the floor, clutching the letter like it could tether her to something– anything. Her whole body shook with the kind of grief she’d long since forgotten how to carry.
She cried for the mother whose touch she barely remembered. For the father whose shadow still lingered in dreams she didn’t remember waking from. For the hometown that had vanished from the map and the people who vanished with it. For the childhood that had slipped through her fingers before she ever had the chance to truly live it.
She cried until her chest ached and her throat burned and the letter lay forgotten beside her. Until there was nothing left but the sound of the wood stove crackling to heat the room.
And the silence of no one calling her home.