The Last Letter

She found it tucked inside an old book a yellowed envelope with her name scrawled in shaky handwriting. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the paper, the scent of faded ink and memories rising like ghosts.

“If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. But don’t cry, my love. I left you the sunrise the way it turned your hair gold every morning. I left you the sound of the rain on our rooftop, the way you’d hum off-key when you thought no one was listening. Keep them. They were always yours anyway.”

The words blurred. Outside, the world moved on, unaware that her heart had just shattered into a thousand silent pieces.