The envelope jammed in Wren's mailbox wasn't hers. Same street, wrong number: 14 instead of 41, the digits swapped by some tired hand at the sorting office. It was addressed to a woman named Cordelia, in looping handwriting. Inside, a letter began, 'Darling, I know it's been too long, and I owe you the truth.' Wren stood on her steps, holding a stranger's letter, not sure what to do.

Wren decided to walk it over to number 41 herself. The right house had a blue door and a sleepy cat in the window. She knocked, holding the letter out like an apology. The door opened, and a young man blinked at her, confused. 'I'm looking for Cordelia,' Wren said.

The man took the letter and frowned. 'There's no Cordelia here. Never has been.' He started to close the door, then paused. 'But people keep mailing her things. You're the third this year.' He pointed down the street. 'Try the old post office. The clerk there, Sam, keeps the lost letters. Maybe Sam knows something.'

Wren found the old post office and met Sam, the clerk, surrounded by stacks of undelivered letters. 'Cordelia,' Sam said, nodding. 'She has a whole drawer.' Sam pulled it open. Dozens of letters, all from Theo, all returned. 'He never gave up,' Sam said. 'Want to help me finally get these to her?'

Wren and Sam spent the next month tracking down Cordelia's new address and forwarding every letter at once. When the box arrived at the coast, Cordelia called the post office in tears. She read each one in order, three years of love, finally home. Sam put Wren on the phone, and Cordelia said the words Wren would never forget: 'You finished a story I thought was lost.'