Lucas walked me the whole way home from school again today.

Under the pile of photographs lay a yellowed envelope with my name printed in bold letters.

“My dearest Cassie,” the letter began in her familiar, flowing handwriting.

“If you’re reading this, it means I didn’t have the courage to tell you the whole truth while my heart was still beating.”

“Lucas was my loyal brother long before the world turned cold and cruel toward him,” she wrote.

“He packed my brown-bag lunches, carried me through winter snowdrifts, and gave up his own wool coat whenever our furnace quit.”