Chapter 46
The soft knock at Julia's door pulled her from the edge of sleep. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, and opened the door to find her mother standing there, a fragile smile on her face.
"Julia," she said gently, "there's something you should see."
In her hands was a small wooden box—old, worn at the corners, and tied with a faded pink ribbon. Julia's breath caught as she reached for it.
"Grandma left this for you," her mother whispered.
With trembling hands, Julia untied the ribbon and opened the box. Inside lay folded letters, yellowed by time, and a photo of Grandma holding baby Julia, both smiling.
She unfolded the first letter, and her grandmother's neat handwriting came to life:
> "My dearest Julia,
> If you're reading this, it means life has taken me elsewhere. But know this—I've always been with you, even in silence. You carry my stories, my love, and my laughter. You are stronger than you believe, and your light, though dimmed by grief, is still there. Smile, even if it hurts, because you still have a life full of magic to write."
Tears spilled freely down Julia's cheeks. For the first time in months, she didn't feel so alone. She looked up at her mother, who simply nodded, understanding everything without a single word.
That night, Julia wrote. Not because she had to, but because her heart needed to.
She wrote about love. About loss. About healing.
And slowly, the girl who forgot how to smile… began to remember.