My brothers best friend

Chapter 29: Letters from the Past

Chapter 29

Valerie's Point of View

The dinner had left me with a mix of emotions swirling in my chest—gratitude, warmth, embarrassment, and a little sadness I couldn't quite shake. Jake's quiet reassurances and Jack's endless enthusiasm had been enough to salvage the evening, but Karen's sharp words lingered like a shadow over everything.

I sat on the porch steps, the cool night air brushing against my face. The stars above the farm stretched endlessly, twinkling in a way that reminded me of just how small we all were in the grand scheme of things. The world out here felt different—quieter, calmer—but tonight, even the stillness couldn't settle my thoughts.

"I think I need to clear my head," I said, standing up and brushing imaginary dust from my jeans.

Jake, who had been leaning against the porch railing, looked up. "Want some company?"

His voice was soft, his concern clear, but I shook my head with a small smile. "Thanks, but I think I need to be alone for a little bit. Just... to think."

He hesitated, his brow furrowing, but finally nodded. "Okay. Take a flashlight, though. And don't wander too far."

"I'll be fine," I promised, grabbing a flashlight from the porch and heading toward the path that led through the fields.

The air was crisp and carried the faint scent of earth and leaves. My boots crunched against the gravel as I walked, and for a while, the rhythmic sound steadied my racing thoughts.

The events of the past week swirled in my mind—the way Jack's laughter filled the house, Abuela's wisdom, and the way Jake's kiss had felt like a promise of something I wasn't sure I deserved. And then, of course, Karen's cutting words at dinner.

I didn't know why her opinion mattered so much to me, but it did. Maybe it was because she was Jake's mother, and a part of me was already hoping for something more with him. Or maybe it was because her harsh critique had dredged up old insecurities I thought I'd left behind.

I sighed, pausing near the edge of the woods that bordered the farm. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting long shadows that stretched across the ground. I thought about turning back, but the pull to keep walking was stronger.

The trees thickened as I walked deeper into the woods, their silhouettes swaying in the breeze. The flashlight's beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the path ahead, but my thoughts kept drifting to Karen's words, the warmth of Jake's kiss, and the tangled feelings growing inside me.

A glint of something metallic caught my eye, just off the path. Curious, I stepped closer, my boots crunching softly on the fallen leaves. There, half-buried beneath a patch of moss, was the corner of a small metal box. It looked old—rusted around the edges, its once-bright finish dulled by time and weather.

I knelt down, brushing away dirt and leaves. The box was heavier than I expected as I lifted it, the lock rusted and brittle. With a gentle tug, the clasp broke loose, and the lid creaked open.

Inside were letters, yellowed with age but carefully preserved. A faint scent of paper and ink wafted out, mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest. My heart raced as I gently picked up the first letter. The handwriting was delicate, looping across the page.

Dear Jake,

I know this might seem silly, writing letters like this, but I can't help it. I'm just so excited. I feel like I need to capture every moment of this time in case we ever want to look back. I want to remember everything—how it feels to dream about our future, about the baby growing inside me, about us becoming a family.