She placed it carefully between us.
Resting on top was an old envelope.
The handwriting stopped my heart.
I knew it instantly.
Nora’s.
Across the front were four words:
OPEN ON OUR 21ST BIRTHDAY.
Leila dropped her fork.
Mom’s eyes filled with tears.
“She made this before she passed away,” Mom whispered. “She asked me to keep it safe until today.”
For years, Mom had never opened it.
Not once.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, with trembling hands, I lifted the lid.
Inside were three bundles tied with faded purple ribbon.
One had my name.
One had Leila’s.
The third was addressed to both of us.
I opened mine first.
Inside was a friendship bracelet, a childhood photograph, and a handwritten letter.
As I unfolded the paper, it felt as though Nora had stepped back into the room.
“Dear Gia,
