She replaced the books, the sweaters, the stuffed bear and rabbit that used to sit on her bed. She tucked them all into the wooden trunk with the crocheted blanket her grandmother had made and then closed the lid. The letter was at the bottom, still in the envelope, held in place by the weight of everything she had placed on top.
It was a foolish thing to keep. She knew it was.
She was Pandora, trapping hope in her chest and wishing that it would all somehow work out.
If she didn’t actually answer, there was always that chance.