Chapter: Letters That Don't Expect an Answer

The morning slid slowly over the city. Olivia, sitting at the edge of her bed, looked at the new notebook she had bought days ago but hadn't dared to open until today. The cover was simple, decorated with olive branches and dried flowers. Tom always said that the simplest things held the deepest feelings.

She picked up a pen, took a deep breath, and wrote on the first page:

Letter #1: To you, wherever you are

Hi, my love,

This morning I woke up with a tight heart. I dreamed of you again. It felt so real that for a moment I thought if I reached far enough, I could touch you. You told me not to stop living... but it's so hard without you. Sometimes it's hard to breathe when the world keeps going as if nothing happened.

Yesterday I learned more about you, through Matías. He told me about your teenage years, the silly things you did together, how you'd protect him when he got into trouble. Funny thing is, he talked about you as if you were still here. I guess for some people, the ones we love never really leave.

Today I held the ring a bit longer than usual. You know? Every time I touch it, I feel like I can hear your voice. You told me you had saved it in case someone came along who could see beyond your illness. It's so unfair that now all I have left is the cold of the metal and not your hands.

But I write anyway. Because I know that somewhere in the universe, these words find their place. Maybe in the wind. Maybe in memories. Maybe in you.

I love you. Still.

— Olivia.

She closed the notebook gently, as if something fragile had been tucked inside. Then she placed it on her nightstand, next to the jar where she kept the dried petals from the flowers Tom had given her the first time he said "I love you."

Writing didn't bring him back, but it brought her closer to what he had been in life: love, tenderness, a refuge. And for now, that was enough.