The crisp white envelope felt strangely heavy in Arthur’s hand. He’d expected bills, maybe a flyer. Certainly not this. His pulse quickened. He ripped it open with more force than necessary, scattering the seal across the worn rug. Inside, a single sheet of paper, penned in a shaky hand, spilled out. A name he hadn't thought of in decades leaped off the page. A name that, for years, had brought him only a knot of bitterness. Now, a strange, airy feeling filled his chest, like he could float away.
A grin stretched across his face, almost cracking his dry lips. He read the words, the clumsy attempts at contrition, then read them again. A laugh, high and unexpected, escaped his throat. He felt the need to share this news; to tell someone, *anyone*. He considered calling Martha, his neighbor, the one who always knew how to make him laugh, but then decided against it. This was his, a private treasure.
Arthur began to hum, something he hadn’t done in years. He felt suddenly energized, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he strode over to the record player. "Let's dance!" he announced to the empty living room, flicking the switch and setting the needle down on a lively jazz track.