Eleanor hadn’t stepped into the attic in years. Dust motes floated in the golden afternoon light as she ran her fingers over an old wooden chest. Inside, bundled with a faded ribbon, were letters—hundreds of them.
She pulled one free, her hands trembling. Eleanor, if you're reading this, I hope you’ve forgiven me... The signature made her gasp. It was Thomas, the boy she once loved, the boy she had been forced to leave behind.
Her heart pounded as she read letter after letter, each one painting a picture of a love she had never truly lost. Why had they never reached her? Who had kept them hidden?
Determined to find the truth, Eleanor sought out the past. Her journey led her to an old friend, then to an unexpected revelation: her strict father had intercepted the letters, believing he was protecting her.
Tears streamed down her face, but there was one question left—was it too late? With the last letter in hand, she took a deep breath and dialed a number she never thought she would call.
A familiar voice answered. “Eleanor?”
It was him.