The door creaked open, revealing a small wooden box tucked inside.

I hesitated—then lifted it out, set it on the rug, and opened the lid.

Inside were letters. Dozens of them. Old, yellowed, tied together with a pale blue ribbon.

And beneath them, a black-and-white photo.

I gasped.

The woman in the photo looked exactly like me. Same shape of the eyes. Same nose. Same uncertain smile.

I knew who she was before I even read the name.

Evelyn.

My mother.

The one I barely remembered. The one who died when I was just a toddler.