One afternoon, I was cleaning his room while he was at school. He’d been so withdrawn lately, and I wanted to do something small to help him. I was straightening up, moving things around, when I noticed his beanbag chair looked strange. It was lumpy in a way I’d never seen before.
I knelt down and felt the fabric. There was a zipper I hadn’t noticed. I unzipped it and reached inside.
What I found made my heart stop.
There were letters. Dozens of letters, all addressed to Emily, all in Ethan’s handwriting. They were tucked into a plastic bag, hidden deep inside the beanbag.
I pulled them out, my hands trembling.
The first one read:
Dear Emily,
I know you’re out there. I know you’re safe. But I don’t understand why you left. Why you didn’t tell me. Why you didn’t take me with you.
I miss you. I miss the way you used to make me laugh. I miss the way you’d sneak me extra dessert when Mom wasn’t looking. I miss you so much it hurts.
