By the end, tears spotted the page.
I called Dr. Kim.
She had retired several years earlier, but she still answered when I needed her.
“A woman came to my house wearing Teresa’s dress.”
There was silence.
“She found the letter inside.”
“How much did she read?”
“Enough.”
I stared at the line where I had written:
I am sorry you died waiting for me.
Dr. Kim spoke carefully.
“Do you still believe that?”
“What else am I supposed to believe?”
“You believed what you were told.”
My fingers tightened around the paper.
“What does that mean?”
“Grief fills empty spaces, Olivia.”
Her voice remained gentle.
“Sometimes it fills them with blame. Sometimes with imagined details. You have spent twenty years living inside a version of Teresa’s final moments that no one could confirm.”
I looked toward the dark window.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Decide what truth you need.”
After the call, I contacted Tanya, Phoebe, and Holly.
I had not seen all three together in years.
They arrived that evening.
Holly hugged me immediately.
Tanya remained near the kitchen counter.
Phoebe kept her coat on.
I placed the letter on the table.
“A woman came here wearing Teresa’s prom dress.”
Holly’s eyes widened.
“She found this inside.”
“You wrote to Teresa?” Holly asked.
“Four years after the accident.”
Tanya looked toward Phoebe.
The glance lasted less than a second.
I saw it.
“What was that?”
Tanya frowned.
“What?”
“That look.”
“I didn’t—”
“Do not.”
My voice stopped her.
Phoebe slowly removed her coat.
I slid the letter toward her.
“Read it.”
Her hand trembled as she unfolded the pages.
When she reached the line about Teresa dying alone, she went pale.
“Why did you write this?”
I stared at her.
“Because she died trapped in the car.”
Phoebe shook her head.
“No.”
The room went still.
