Two days later, Elias found himself in the attic. It was the only room he hadn't touched. The air was thick with dust and the scent of aging paper. He spent hours moving boxes of old ledgers and broken furniture, his heart hardening with every reminder of his father's rigid, practical life.
Then, he saw it—an old, mahogany desk tucked under the eaves. In the bottom drawer, hidden beneath a stack of yellowed newspapers, lay a small, leather-bound journal. As Elias flipped through the pages, he found it: a cream-colored envelope, unsealed and unstamped.
It was addressed to him, dated ten years ago—the very month their final argument had shattered everything.