| Romance Fiction posted September 8, 2025 | Chapters: |
...7 8 -9- 10... 
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The Letter
A chapter in the book Yesterday's Dreams
By The Sea Chap 1
by Begin Again
Present Day (1999)
"Boarding pass, miss?"
Anna blinked, realizing the attendant had spoken twice. She fumbled the folded slip of paper from her hand and offered it, heat creeping into her cheeks. "Sorry," she murmured. "My mind was elsewhere."
The woman scanned the ticket and offered a polite smile. "Gate C12. Have a good flight."
Anna nodded and stepped onto the narrow jet bridge, her suitcase bumping noisily over the ridged floor. The faint smell of fuel hung in the air.
For a brief moment, she wondered if she was doing the right thing, chasing after her grandmother's secrets. She sighed, remembering the letter, and moved forward in the line.
Overhead, the PA crackled: "Final call for passenger David Hendrikson, Gate C12."
Anna's breath caught. For one reckless heartbeat, she thought he'd changed his mind — that David had decided to surprise her, to join her on this trip after all. She pictured him rushing through the terminal, jacket slipping from his shoulder, calling her name.
Her lips even curved into the start of a smile before the truth settled in. It wasn't him. It was never him. Spontaneity wasn't part of his makeup.
The announcement ended, the crowd pressed forward, and Anna moved with them — the echo of her foolish hope stinging as sharply as the memory of his phone call that morning.
The phone had rung just as she was fastening the clasp on her suitcase. His voice had been brisk, already focused on a client waiting in his office.
"Anna, I'm sorry. I'm unable to leave the office. Meetings stacked up. You'll be fine on your own, right?"
She had waited for more. I'll miss you. I love you. Call me when you land. Something that sounded like he cared, not an obligation. But none of it had come. Just a clipped, "Have a safe trip," before the line went dead.
Now, boarding alone, she pressed her purse tighter against her side, the folded letter inside reminding her why she was going to Sicily. Not just a vacation, but a journey to learn about a child in her grandmother's past. A child her mother wanted forgotten.
The engines hummed to life as the last passengers filed on, lifting their suitcases into the overhead compartments and finding their seats.
Anna slid into her seat by the window, resting her forehead against the cool glass. The clouds outside promised escape, but her thoughts slipped back, heavy and insistent.
The funeral. The scent of lilies and freshly dug earth. She remembered standing beside her mother, both of them rigid, as condolences washed over them like waves on the beach.
Her grandmother had always seemed like the family foundation, the kind of woman who carried a household without complaint. At seventy-five, Elizabeth had climbed attic stairs, hauled baskets of laundry, and laughed at her own stubbornness when Margaret scolded her. Pneumonia had come swiftly, mercilessly, leaving no time for goodbyes. Even then, the nurses said, she maintained her sense of humor until the end.
Friends and neighbors had pressed hands, offered kind phrases that blurred together. None of it touched the hollowness she felt inside. Elizabeth had been the anchor of their family. Losing her felt like the earth itself had shifted, leaving Anna unsure of so much.
In the weeks that followed, she had helped her mother sort through her grandmother's things. The attic had smelled of cedar and dust, of years folded into boxes. Sunlight strained through a single window, catching the edges of photographs and linens stacked in uneven piles.
Anna had sat cross-legged on the floor, brushing cobwebs from a trunk, when the heavy prayer book had slid from her lap and thudded to the ground — from its pages fluttered a brittle, yellowed envelope. She had picked it up and was about to replace it inside the book when she saw the words written across the front. Her breath caught as she wondered if she'd discovered a forgotten love letter. Curiosity pressed her to read it.
Dearest Elizabeth,
Her grandmother's name. Her heart insisted she read further. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded it. The ink had faded, but the lines remained clear enough.
There is no one in this world that I can trust with this precious gift except you, my best friend. If fate is cruel and I cannot return, raise my child as your own. Protect her. Never tell her the truth — it is the only way she can live free.
Always, Sophia
Anna's lips had parted, her heart hammering. It wasn't a letter from a forgotten lover — it was a cry for help for a child. She stared at the letter, trying to imagine the person who had written it, when someone suddenly grabbed it from her.
Her mother's face loomed pale and tight with fury. "Where did you find this?"
"In the prayer book. Who's Sophia? What does she mean about raising her child?"
"Stop!" Margaret's voice cracked through the rafters. She crushed the letter in her fist, the sound of tearing loud in the stillness. "These are ghosts, Anna. Lies best forgotten."
With a sharp thrust, she shoved the paper into the trash bag beside the trunk.
Anna had stood frozen, stunned by the violence in her mother's reaction.
Margaret's voice had lowered, trembling but hard. "Nothing good comes of digging into the past. Do you hear me? Leave it there."
She had stormed down the attic stairs, her footsteps sharp against the wood.
Anna's gaze returned to the bag. The torn parchment peeked out between the folds of old linens like a secret refusing to be silent. Slowly, with shaking hands, she had reached in and drawn it free. She smoothed the creases gently, folding it with care, before slipping it into her pocket.
Her thoughts raced. Why had her mother reacted so harshly to the letter? Who was the child, and why had she never heard her grandmother speak of her? Her mother's reaction had shaken her, but Anna knew she couldn't put it out of her mind. She struggled to understand what had just happened.
The plane jolted down the runway, engines roaring, the city sliding away beneath them. Anna's purse pressed against her knees, the letter inside a constant reminder. She slid her hand inside, brushing the crackle of the fragile paper.
She hesitated, glancing at the man dozing beside her, then eased the letter onto her lap. Shielding it between her hands, she traced the hurried script.
Dearest Elizabeth,
Her eyes caught on the same line that had haunted her since the attic — If fate is cruel and I cannot return, raise my child as your own. Protect her. Never tell her the truth — it is the only way she can live free.
Her throat tightened. She folded the page quickly and slipped it back into her purse, but the words clung to her — protect her. Anna couldn't help but ask, "Where was she? What had happened? Protect her from what or whom?"
Across the aisle, a young couple leaned close together, laughter soft between them. The man brushed a strand of hair from the woman's cheek before kissing her quickly, tenderly. The kind of kiss that belonged to no one but them.
Anna's chest ached. She wanted that — the spark, the ease, the love that burned even in silence.
David had kissed her forehead at the funeral, his hand resting politely on her back. He was kind, dependable, and everything her family approved of. But there had been no urgency in him, no fire — only politeness and duty.
She turned her gaze to the window. Beyond the glass, clouds broke into sunlight.
Sophia's words whispered back — love that burned recklessly, even in the face of war.
Anna pressed the letter to her chest and whispered, "I'm sorry, Mom. I've got to find the truth."
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