Hannah was twenty-six years old when her uncle’s funeral ended and the house fell into a silence that felt different from any quiet she’d experienced before.
It was the kind of stillness that signals permanent change, the end of an era.
That’s when Mrs. Patel, their longtime neighbor, approached Hannah with a sealed envelope clutched in her trembling hands.
“Your uncle asked me to give you this after he passed,” the older woman said, her eyes red and swollen from hours of crying.
“And he wanted me to tell you he’s sorry.”
