The Unread Letter
<p>Is it random how things you’ve buried come to the surface just when you have nearly forgotten they existed?</p>
<p>I rummaged through a time capsule of a plastic file, looking for documents to take to the attorney. Because all three kids were inching towards their thirties, and one beyond, even, it was time to update my will.</p>
<p>The letter slid out of an innocuous 9" X 13" white envelope; two pages, a page and a half of single-line printed text, pressed in a crisp, deliberate half-fold that successfully blanked its existence from my mind.</p>
<p>It was the last thing I wanted when he handed it to me. My heart had shriveled, like the Grinch, into a tiny green lima bean. I didn’t care what it said. “Too little, too late,” my ego hissed inside my skull. “We are done.”</p>
<p>With that, my eyes blurred over. I could not read a word of it.</p>
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