Chapter 2: The Letter in the Hem
Emily reached into the stitched edge of the pink towel and pulled out something small.
A plastic sleeve.
Inside was a letter, yellowed with age, folded so many times it looked fragile enough to crumble.
My name was written across the front.
Daniel.
Not “To whoever finds them.”
Not “Please help.”
My name.
I sat down because my knees had stopped trusting me.
“Dad,” Emily whispered, “we found it last month when we were packing for college. The seam was loose. We thought it was just old stitching.”
Grace wiped her cheeks.
“Then we saw your name.”
I stared at the letter like it might burn me.
For eighteen years, those towels had been in the memory box on the top shelf of my closet.
I had kept them because they were part of the miracle that saved me.
I had never once thought to cut them open.
My hands shook as I unfolded the paper.
The first line nearly stopped my heart.
Daniel, if you are reading this, then my sister did what I asked.
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