She scoured the mail slowly, hoping she had misunderstood. Each line was careful, formal, stripped of hesitation. Dates and numbers stared back. Nothing suggested uncertainty or pause. The language felt precise, professional, and final, as if the decision had already passed approvals, without room for discussion.
Her chest tightened as images rushed in—another woman, another life, a decision already made. She pictured rooms she had never entered, mornings she would never share. The thought arrived fully formed, frightening in its certainty, yet it felt instinctive, almost reasonable, settling into her thoughts without resistance or warning.