The originals live safely with Maya’s firm.
But I keep his letter.
The real one.
The words have faded.
The folds are soft.
Sometimes I read the first line.
If Rebecca is the one who finds this, then she remembered.
I did remember.
I remembered the hill.
The cave.
The tree.
My grandfather.
But more importantly, after eleven years of people telling me who I was, I slowly remembered myself.
Not innocent.
Not perfect.
Not only guilty.
Human.
That was where my life truly began.
Not the day the prison gate opened.
Not the day I found the deed.
Not even the day Lily hugged me again.
It began in a dark cave when I realized I had one piece of ground nobody could take from me.
Then I made the first fire.
Then the next decision.
Then another.
Years later, women still arrive at Ridge House carrying plastic bags.
