THE SECRET ENVELOPE THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

That night, I read the letter over and over again, trying to feel as though she was still here. The words were like a comfort, yet they also ignited a deep yearning to know more about her life, the life she had lived before me. Meanwhile, Sybella kept calling. She bragged about her inheritance and the shopping spree she was planning, her voice dripping with self-satisfaction. Each word cut deep, making me feel small. But I refused to tell her about the cabin. That was mine. It was my secret from Mom.

The next morning, I packed a bag, determined to leave the city behind and go somewhere my mother had found peace. The drive to the cabin was long, nearly six hours of winding roads that led deeper into thick forests, away from the noise of the city and the bitterness of my sister’s actions. By the time I reached the path to the cabin, the sun was setting, casting a warm, golden light over the landscape. It was breathtaking. Almost magical.

The cabin was small, tucked in the mountains like a hidden treasure. Ivy crawled up the stone chimney, and the little wooden porch felt like a step back in time. I stood there for a moment, taking in the view, the quietness, the sense of peace I had longed for. Inside, it smelled of cedarwood, and the air felt thick with memories. As I explored, I found family photos on the mantle—pictures of my mother as a young woman, smiling in front of the cabin, with a man I didn’t recognize standing beside her. I also found pictures of me as a child. Tears slipped down my cheeks as I realized how much of her life I had never known.

As I curled up in an old armchair by the fire, I spotted a shelf of old books and journals. One journal caught my eye, and as I opened it, I saw my mother’s handwriting. She had written about meeting my father here, about their dreams of building a life in the mountains, before life had pulled them back to the city. But one entry left me breathless. “I don’t know how to tell them. I had to give him up, but I’ve always hoped one day they’d meet.”

Who was “him”? Did I have a brother? My mind raced with questions I couldn’t answer. Exhaustion finally took over, and I fell asleep, but my thoughts wouldn’t let go.

The next morning, I was determined to find out the truth. I spent hours searching through every drawer, shelf, and dusty box in the cabin. Among the old letters, I found correspondence from a man named Cedric. His letters were filled with love and longing, but they stopped abruptly eighteen years ago. Then, tucked in a box, I found a birth certificate. The name “Jasper Bellamy” was listed as my mother’s son.

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