CHAPTER 23: The Letter He Never Sent
The door closed behind Eli with a quiet finality that pressed down on Ava's chest like a stone. She stood frozen, the burn unit file trembling in her hands, the weight of the past crushing every breath.
She sank to the floor, her back against the cold metal filing cabinet. Her mind raced, a whirlwind of guilt, fear, and confusion. How could this be real? How could the boy in the sketch—the scared, broken boy—be the same man who now haunted her every thought?
Minutes passed. Or was it hours?
A soft rustle caught her attention.
Her eyes flicked toward the old desk in the corner, cluttered with papers and faded photographs. Something caught the edge of her sleeve—a folded envelope, yellowed and worn, tucked beneath a stack of forgotten letters.
Hands shaking, she pulled it free.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
Eli's.
She hesitated, heart pounding. What secret had he been hiding in this quiet paper? What truth had he never dared to share?
With trembling fingers, she unfolded the letter.
"To the one I lost before I ever knew her..."
The words pulled her in, raw and aching. A confession of pain, hope, and longing—of a love that had survived the darkest fire, even if memory had not.
Tears blurred her vision as she read about a promise Eli had made, a promise to never forget.
"I was lost in the dark, feeling like a werey—cursed, broken, unseen. But you, even before I knew your face, were my light. Every note I played, every song I wrote, was for you—the girl I lost but never stopped searching for."
Ava pressed the letter to her heart, a fragile lifeline between two broken souls.
She knew now—this was just the beginning.
And maybe, just maybe, there was still hope for them.