I found the letter three days before Jamie’s eighteenth birthday, carefully hidden beneath his late father Michael’s treasured watch in the bottom drawer of his study desk. The envelope was old and slightly yellowed at the edges, sealed tightly as if waiting all these years for the right moment to be opened. It was from Jamie’s birth mother—the woman who had passed away when he was just eight months old. Michael never once mentioned this letter during all our years together, and now that he was gone, I wondered why he kept such a secret from me. The weight of...
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