Seven Years After Her D.eath, My Best Friend Texted Me

The message stared back at me, and for a long moment, I was frozen.

My heart pounded so violently I thought it might break my chest.

Every instinct told me to ignore it, to shut off my phone and pretend I hadn’t seen it.

But curiosity—and something deeper, something that felt strangely like hope—pushed me forward.

I moved slowly toward the door, each step heavier than the last.

My hand trembled as I reached for the knob, the silence in the house suddenly overwhelming. When I opened the door, the cool night air hit me, sharp and bracing.

At first, I saw nothing. The street was still, the porch empty. Then I noticed something on the doormat: a small, worn box, edges frayed like it had been hidden away for years.

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