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Letters We Mailed to the Wrong House
romanceEveryone6 contributors · 5 paragraphs deep
I read it. Five years. He's loved her for five years and never said a word. And I recognize the handwriting. It's my neighbor, the quiet guy across the street. My hands are shaking. I have to do something. But what?
I don't go over. I can't face him. Instead, I print the letter, slip it under Cordelia's door with a note: 'Someone wanted you to have this. They were too scared to sign it.' Three months later I see them at the coffee shop. Laughing.
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