It let me believe that if Grayson had only known, he might have come.

Watching Delphine’s face on that lawn, unsurprised, already bargaining, I felt that merciful story die.

Someone had received every letter.

Someone had heard every call.

The silence had not been an accident of the world.

It had been a woman’s choice, made and remade over seven years, every time she looked at that blue box and decided again to keep it shut.

I had grieved a misunderstanding.