Section 1 – The Envelope in the Science Hall
I pushed through the double doors of the school and the hallway smelled of stale chalk and disinfectant.
The fluorescent lights hummed, casting a cold glow over the empty science wing.
Mrs. Dilmore stood at the far end, her shoulders hunched, her skin almost translucent in the pallid light.
She turned slowly, and the tremor in her hand caught my eye.
“Mrs. Dilmore,” I whispered, my voice ragged from sleepless nights, “you said you had something for me?”
She nodded, eyes flicking to the metal cabinet where she kept the test tubes.
“I found this this morning,” she said, voice thin, “in my desk drawer. It was sealed, addressed to you.”
She extended a small envelope, the paper crisp, the front stamped in my son’s unmistakable scrawl: For Mom.
The envelope trembled in my palm, and a chill rose up my spine.
“He… he knew,” Mrs. Dilmore breathed, “that you would get this after… after he’s gone.”
My throat tightened, the words echoing in the empty corridor like a prayer.
“Did he say why?” I asked, feeling the weight of his tiny hand on the paper.
Mrs. Dilmore shook her head, eyes brimming with unshed tears.
“He wrote ‘for Mom’ and… and something about me being ready,” she muttered, her voice cracking.
I swallowed the breath that rose to my chest, the hallway seeming to close in around us.
“Please,” I whispered, “let me see it.”
