Last Updated on August 19, 2026 by
The thick, heavy square of ivory paper sat on my scratched Formica kitchen table, its gold lettering raised so high it looked like brass. The postmark in the corner showed it had cost fifteen dollars just to mail, which was exactly five dollars more than I had left in my checking account.
Ethan stood by the refrigerator, his arms crossed over his chest, watching me. He did not ask what was inside the envelope, though we both knew the return address in Dallas belonged to his father’s law firm. He was still wearing his school uniform, the blue polo shirt slightly frayed at the collar, his dark hair combed straight down.
“Is that from Daniel?” he asked.
