The chapel door closed behind me with a soft click.
Outside, the air was cooler than I expected. It touched my skin gently, like it knew something had changed.
I walked home slowly. Not from exhaustion, but because I needed the space between then and now. I needed the quiet. I needed to hold on to what I'd felt in that room, before the world returned and made me doubt it.
The streets were nearly empty. A few people nodded as I passed, but no one stopped me. Maybe they saw something in my face. Maybe I still looked like I'd been crying.
By the time I reached my door, the sun had slipped lower in the sky. Shadows stretched longer across the floor as I stepped inside.
Everything was as I'd left it.
The chair by the window. The small stack of books on the table. The chipped mug I kept forgetting to put away.
And the letters.
Three of them, sitting neatly in the center of the table. Pale paper. The ink was dark, the edges crisp.
All opened, as expected. They always were.
