It was just another afternoon, one of those when Olivia tried to stay busy without much success. Matías had called her early and asked her to come by his house; he said he had something for her—something Tom had entrusted him with "just in case."
When she arrived, Matías looked serious, holding a small box in his hands. He looked at her as if searching for the exact moment to let go of something that weighed too much.
"He gave it to me a few months before..." he said without finishing the sentence. "He asked me to give it to you when I felt you were ready. And today... today you are."
Olivia took it with trembling hands. When she opened the box, she found a wax-sealed envelope. Her name was written in Tom's unmistakable handwriting. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened it.
Inside, a letter:
"My Oli,
If you're reading this, then life did its thing. And even though I don't like saying it this way, I want you to know I loved you with everything I had. I wanted a future with you, but I didn't know if I'd get one. That's why I wrote this. Because if I couldn't give you words anymore, I'd at least leave you mine.
I saved things for you. Some are hidden. Others are with people who know me well. And each one has a little piece of me. Not because I want you to remember me, but because I want you to remember you—strong. Brave. Mine.
There's a blue notebook on my shelf, behind my philosophy books. It's full of things I never told you. I also left something in box 43 of that old mailbox where we used to leave silly letters for fun. Yes, I still have the key. It's yours now. It's inside the drawer of my nightstand, along with a ring that holds a promise I didn't get to fulfill.
I love you. Still. Always.
—Tom."
Olivia cried in silence, clutching the envelope, the smell of the paper, the echo of his words. Every line was a hug, every phrase a goodbye he hadn't dared to say out loud.
And that night, as every time something new from Tom touched her soul, she wrote another letter.