Chapter 14: The Unopened Box
That evening, after returning to Columbus, Hannah received a package forwarded by the federal correctional facility in West Virginia.
Inside was a single cardboard box containing Greg’s remaining personal belongings that had been cleared from his locker at the former terminal: his old dispatch clipboard, his company safety award from 2018, and a handwritten letter sealed in an envelope.
Hannah sat at her kitchen table in the soft amber light of the chandelier.
She picked up the envelope. She looked at Greg’s familiar, hurried handwriting: *To Hannah - Please read.*
She held the envelope for a long moment, feeling the ghosts of ten years of shared memories, promises made in community college libraries, and tears wept over broken dreams.
Then, with calm, steady fingers, Hannah placed the letter back into the box without breaking the seal.
She did not burn it in anger, nor did she hide it away in shame. She simply closed the cardboard flaps, taped the box shut, and placed it in the storage closet beside the old winter coats.
May you like
The past did not need to be destroyed to lose its power; it only needed to be recognized as something that had run its course.
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