The folded note sat beneath the flowers while my pulse hammered against my ribs and for several seconds I simply stared at it.
Nothing about this felt normal. Then again, nothing about my life had felt normal for months.
Slowly I reached down and picked up the paper.
The fold looked clean, careful and deliberate.
Like whoever left it knew exactly what they were doing.
I unfolded it and three words stared back at me.
SHE WAS BRAVE
That was it. Nothing else. No signature or explanation or clue. Just three words.
My throat tightened immediately because whoever wrote them had known my mother. Not known of her, known her. The distinction mattered. A lot.
I read the note again and then a third time and words somehow felt both comforting and unsettling at the same time.
A voice
