On the thirtieth night after she left, there was a knock on my door.
That morning, I had given up her coming back to me. But as soon as that knock came, my hopes rushed back in, as I stood up, gathered myself together, and then opened the door.
There was a young woman standing there, but it wasn't her.
She asked me if I was me, and when I confirmed it, she handed me a letter.
I opened it and read it quickly.
I looked up at her, and my heart, while not healing, certainly felt a little better.
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