The crisp autumn air snaked through the open window, carrying the scent of burning leaves and the distant, mournful wail of a train whistle. Sarah perched on the edge of her armchair, the aged paper trembling slightly in her hand. Sunlight slanted across the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, each a tiny reminder of forgotten time. The letter, postmarked a decade prior, felt like a phantom limb, a touch from a life she thought she’d entirely moved on from. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the thin paper, the words, penned in a hurried scrawl, brought a strange, tight feeling to her chest.
She stared out at the vibrant colours of the trees, a kaleidoscope of reds and golds, and thought of her sister, the one who sent the letter. They hadn't spoken since the fight, a fight fueled by jealousy and adolescent angst. The apology felt hollow now, years after the fact, but she could still feel the sting of the words that had been said. A tremor ran through her, a wave of forgotten pain and a surprising pang of something akin to sadness. She closed her eyes, the scent of the letter, a faint perfume, triggering a rush of memory.
A single tear traced a path down her cheek, leaving a glistening streak against the wrinkles that had etched themselves around her eyes. She hadn't expected this, not this sudden, unexpected swell of emotion. The letter was a ghost from her past.