“May I read it now?” I asked, feeling my heart beat faster.

“Yes, you may,” she replied, reaching into the box to retrieve a thick cream envelope.

My name was written across the front in Aunt Madeline’s unmistakable, elegant handwriting: Claire.

Nothing else was written on the paper.

My fingers trembled slightly as I unsealed the envelope and pulled out the two handwritten pages inside.

“My dear Claire,” the letter began.

“If Samantha has handed you this letter, then something significant has happened in your life that has made you question whether the world around you still feels like your own.

I hope with all my heart that I was wrong to prepare for this possibility, but preparing for a storm is not the same as predicting one.