Chapter: The Words That Remained

The idea of returning to Tom's parents' house had been lingering in her mind for weeks. Something still felt unfinished, a loose thread. She didn't know exactly what she was looking for, but the need to go became too strong to ignore.

It was his mother who greeted her at the door. She embraced her with that genuine warmth only a mother can give, even when grief still lingered in her eyes.

"You seem more at peace," she said, with a mix of relief and nostalgia.

"I am. But I feel like something's missing. I don't know what, but... something."

She nodded and invited her in. As they drank tea in the living room, she spoke gently:

"A few weeks ago, while going through his things, we found something we believe you should have. Tom had kept it between the pages of an old notebook. We didn't know whether to give it to you—we didn't want to cause you pain... but maybe now is the right time."

His mother stood and returned with a small, light-wooden box. She handed it to Olivia with trembling hands.

Olivia held it as if it contained a piece of Tom's soul. When she opened it, she found an envelope, her name written in that unmistakable handwriting of his.

"Olivia"

Her fingers trembled as she broke the seal. Inside was a letter—not very long, but filled with a tenderness that almost hurt to read.

"If you're reading this, it means I can no longer say it to you in person. And though that breaks my heart, I want you to know that writing this was one of the hardest and most honest things I've ever done in my life.

I loved you. I loved you in ways I never knew I could. Sometimes I was clumsy, sometimes a coward, but you were always my safe place. My refuge. The kind of love that made me feel like I could handle anything—even fear.

If one day you hate me, if you cry for me, if you miss me—that's okay. But please, never believe that you weren't enough. You were everything. And even though I'm not there, I want you to live for yourself, not for what we lost.

Keep the letters you write. They'll be your maps when you feel lost.

With all that I was, and all that I still am in your memory,
Tom."

Tears blurred her vision. She felt her chest open—not from pain... but from something softer. A sweet kind of sadness, like the one you feel when you finish a book you loved too much.

She placed the letter back carefully, as if it were a treasure.

Tom had left her words.
Words to hold on to.

And now, she had a new map.