The next morning brought sun. Real sun this time not the hesitant gray of days before, but a bold, golden stretch across the kitchen tiles. The kind of light that made everything feel a little cleaner. A little more possible. Scilla was at the stove, flipping pancakes that were more lopsided than round. Aurelia sat at the table, nursing a mug of coffee and watching her sister with something like peace on her face. "You're burning that one," Aurelia said. "I like them a little burnt." "No, you don't." Scilla grinned. "You don't know me." Aurelia raised an eyebrow. "I grew up next to you. I know exactly how dramatic you get about pancake quality." They both laughed quiet, but real. After breakfast, they returned to the living room. The boxes waited, some still unopened, others now crowned with folded letters or marked with sticky notes in bright colors: Look through this again. Smells like her. Save for rainy day. Scilla dusted off her hands. "Okay," she said. "You ready to keep going?" Aurelia nodded. "Yeah. I think I am." Scilla knelt by a box marked SUMMER STUFF in their mother's handwriting. Aurelia reached for another labeled GIRLS GROWING UP. They began sorting slowly, letting the rhythm return: a photo here, a laugh there. A story remembered. A scent that stopped them mid-sentence.
And in the middle of it all, they found a new letter tucked into a stack of coloring books. This one just said: Keep going. You're doing it. They were. They were. They didn't rush. Each box felt like its own story, its own soft corner of their mother's world, preserved just enough to breathe again. Late that afternoon, Aurelia opened one of the smaller boxes and found a letter addressed to her. Aurelia – for the day you finally sit still. She smiled a little. "Wow. Called out by a dead woman." Scilla looked up. "What's it say?" Aurelia unfolded the paper.
My wild-hearted girl,
I always worried you'd forget to rest. You were always moving, even in your sleep—legs kicking against dreams, arms reaching for things I couldn't always see. I used to watch you run full speed toward the ocean and wonder if you even knew how small you were. You didn't. That was the magic.
You chased the world with open hands. And I hope you still do. But I hope you know it's okay to stop sometimes. To sit down. To let things come to you. You don't have to earn love. Or grief. Or stillness.
Let yourself be held, even if it's just by memory. You don't always have to hold everything up.
With all the softness I have,
Mom
Aurelia folded the letter slowly, her throat tight. "She really saw everything, didn't she?" Scilla gave a small nod. "Yeah. It's kind of annoying." Aurelia laughed wetly and wiped her cheek. "Your turn." Scilla opened one labeled: Scilla – for when the words won't come. Inside was a poem. Handwritten, in their mom's familiar rhythm. The kind she used to scrawl in the margins of shopping lists and napkins at restaurants.
You are not broken.
You are paused.
You are breath between verses.
A comma, not a period.
A rest note in a song still playing.
Speak when you're ready.
Write when it hurts.
You don't owe anyone perfect.
Just true.
Scilla didn't say anything for a long time. Just held the letter to her chest and stared at the ceiling like it might whisper something back. They kept going after that quieter, steadier. Each letter seemed to unlock a little more space in them, make a little more room. Until Aurelia opened the last box at the very bottom of the stack. It wasn't labeled in their mother's handwriting. It was labeled in each of their fathers' names.
"Landon Donald Richmond" – Aurelia Hope Sandringham's father. "Bruce Oliver Holloway" – Scilla Faith Sandringham's father. Aurelia froze. "Scilla." Scilla looked over. Her brow furrowed. "Is that—?" "Yeah." The girls don't typically talk about their fathers much. Aurelia's reason was because her father always had a strange, quiet way of disappearing until he decided he wanted to be a dad again. When he was in her life for his short windows of time, he was a decent dad, outside of that, it was him disappearing and her not wanting to play Where's Waldo? Scilla doesn't talk about her dad because he is off his rocker. He is crazy, racist, sexiest, and not to mention physically and mentally abusive. The last time she saw her dad, she was sixteen and he broke her leg and collarbone in one of his fits because he didn't get his way. The box was heavier than the others. Inside were notebooks, old cassette tapes, and envelopes sealed with red wax. One of them said: To be opened only when you're both ready to know the truth. Scilla exhaled slowly. "Well. That doesn't sound ominous at all." Aurelia looked at her sister, the weight of the day, of the years, of everything suddenly pressing in again. Scilla gave a small smile. "Guess Mom wasn't just leaving breadcrumbs. She was leaving a trail." Aurelia nodded. "And we've only just started following it."
Scilla and Aurelia sat cross-legged on the floor, the open box between them like some old vault finally pried loose from time. Neither reached for the envelope right away. They just looked at it. The seal was intact. Deep red wax stamp. Scilla finally said it. "Do you remember the last time we saw them?" Aurelia shook her head. "I remember my dad's boots by the door. That's it." "He left before she got sick." "She never talked about it." "I want to know why my father was such a bad man" Scilla said. They exchanged a look, not angry, just heavy. Full of all the questions that had lived in the corners of their hearts for years. Aurelia reached for the envelope. Her hands didn't shake this time. She broke the seal. Inside was a letter. Thicker paper than their mom used. Neat handwriting. Precise. It looked like it had taken a long time to write. Scilla read aloud.
To my darling daughter Aurelia,
If you're reading this, then your mother is gone. And I'm sorry for a hundred things, but mostly for not being there when it mattered most. There's no way to explain everything in one letter. But you deserve the truth. You've always deserved it. I didn't leave because I stopped loving you. The truth is, I can never settle down, and I was always unhappy staying in one place. Your mom wanted stability for you, so we never worked out. I left because I could never and will never sit still, the open road is always my home. That doesn't mean I don't love you kiddo, just means that I was no kid at being your old man. Your mother asked me not to tell you, not until you were older, not until you were ready. She said the truth would come when you needed it most. If you've made it this far… I believe that the time is now. I loved you. I still do. You were the only good thing I ever did right.
Love,
your old man.
"Wow, at least he was honest." Aurelia said as she sighed, Scilla closed up the letter. She now read her letter from her father. With shaking hands, she opened it and read out loud.
To my mistake,
If you're reading this, then your mother is thankfully gone. And I am one step closer to erasing you entirely. I told her to abort you, but she refused, joke's on her, she became a single mom. Don't look for me, don't contact me, just drop dead so I can go on with my life without a nose around my neck. That's all you are and all you will ever be.
-Bruce
After Scilla read her father's letter, she broke down crying, it was clear their mother never read any of the letters because had she, she would have hidden the letter addressed to her youngest daughter. Aurelia grabbed hold of her little sister and hugged her tightly. "I am so sorry! You don't deserve that, Scilla." Aurelia said in shock while hurting for her sister. "You know, Mom and I love you, right?" Aurelia asked while cradling her sister. "Scilla nodded through the tears and didn't say anything for an hour. The silence afterward was sharp. Too big to speak into. They looked down at the notebooks. Their mother's familiar handwriting filled the covers. Some pages sticking out. Some bookmarked. One had a name scribbled across the front: My beautiful baby girls. Scilla touched the cover like it might break. "Do we listen to the tapes first?" she asked. Aurelia shook her head, picking up the notebook. "No. We start with the notebooks for now."
Scilla reached for the photograph, the one they'd taken that night. The one that had developed into two weary faces, clinging to each other through grief and hope. She turned it over. She turned it over. Their mother's handwriting. A message had slowly appeared, faint at first, but clear now in the fading light. "Still with you." Aurelia pressed a hand to her chest. "Gosh, I miss her." "I know," Scilla said. "Me too." They sat together like that, the photo between them, the box open at their feet. Outside, the sky turned soft with the approaching dusk. Not dark yet, just that in-between kind of light where anything could still happen. Aurelia leaned her head against her sister's shoulder. Scilla didn't move away. they were learning that even in grief—even in unraveling—there could be a kind of beauty. A kind of grace.