The Call
It came on a Tuesday.
A voicemail from her old college roommate.
“Hey, I read something online that made me think of you. I just… hope you’re okay.”
Mara sat with the message for hours.
She hadn’t spoken to that friend in nearly five years—not since the hospitalization, the silence that followed, the unreturned texts.
Now, a thread.
She didn’t call back.
But she wrote a letter.
Not to send. Just to write.
> “I wasn’t ignoring you. I was drowning.
> Thank you for reaching anyway.”
Sometimes healing doesn’t mean reopening.
Sometimes it means honoring what’s closed.
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