Adele finally opened her father's letters.
She brought all of them. They were six in total. She brought them to the small table beside the window. The morning light had shifted now. It was softer, and warmer, spilling across the wood and catching faintly on the wax seals.
The letter already looked unforgiving.
Her father's crest stamped into each one looked like a reminder she had delayed long enough.
Adele stood there for a moment before sitting.
Her fingers hovered over the first letter. She paused, then pressed down.
The seal broke with a soft, clean crack.
Her chest tightened. She unfolded it, finally ready to know what he had to say.
Her eyes barely skimmed the first line when she heard a knock on her door. The knock seemed timed.
Adele stilled.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the paper.
"Come in," she said, her voice controlled.
The maid by the door moved immediately, stepping forward to open it.
