Charmaine stood outside the prison walls, holding a small box of Charles' belongings. It was heavier than she expected, not in weight, but in meaning.
Inside was everything her brother had left behind—his final possessions after he had taken his own life. The guards had handed it to her with little ceremony, offering no words of comfort. There was none to give.
She stared at the box for a long time before getting into her car, driving home in a daze. Her mind kept replaying the moment the warden had mentioned a letter.
Charles had written her one final note before he died. She hadn't had the strength to open it there, not while standing in the stark fluorescent light of the prison lobby.
When she finally reached home, the silence greeted her again, familiar and suffocating. She placed the box on the dining table, her hands shaking as she opened it. On top, folded neatly, was a letter with her name on it in Charles' unmistakable handwriting.
