Shadows and Broken Glass

Sunrise in Shadows

Mia's footsteps resonated through her apartment, each creak of the floorboards a reminder of her solitude. The air was heavy with memories, and as she kicked off her shoes, she felt the weight of the past settle on her shoulders. The letters, neatly stacked on the coffee table, beckoned to her—a chorus of secrets and regrets.

Mia's fingers traced the edges of the envelopes, each one a portal to a different time. She hesitated, torn between curiosity and fear.

The coffee machine hummed in the background, filling the room with its comforting aroma. Mia poured herself a cup, the warmth seeping into her bones. She settled onto the worn couch, cradling a letter.

As the night stretched before her, Mia clung to the letter, its words etching themselves into her soul. She sipped her coffee, the bitterness a bittersweet companion. Mia's heart raced as she unfolded the delicate envelope, her breath catching on the weight of forgotten promises. The date reads December 23, 2016.

My Dearest Killian,

As the snow blankets the quiet streets of our little town, I find myself reminiscing about the days when you were just a bright-eyed child at Willowbrook State School. The laughter, the tears, and the countless moments we shared—the echoes of those memories still reverberate within me.

Today, my dear boy, you turn eighteen—a milestone that fills my heart with both joy and nostalgia. I imagine you've grown into a remarkable young man, your spirit unyielding despite the challenges life has thrown your way.

How have you been, Killian? Are you well? I hope life has been kind to you, even when it seemed otherwise. And the piano—have you continued to play? I remember those afternoons when you'd sit by the old upright piano in the common room, your fingers dancing across the keys. Music was your solace, your refuge. I pray it still is.

As for me, retirement has brought both quietude and restlessness. The halls of Willowbrook are empty now, the cries replaced by silence. But you, my dear, remain a beacon of light—a sunrise that warms my soul even on the coldest of days.

Thank you, Killian—for being more than just a child under my care. You were a yielder of courage, a testament to the human spirit's ability to endure. As I write this, tears blur my vision, but they are tears of gratitude. You taught me as much as I taught you.

May this birthday be the beginning of a beautiful chapter in your life. And if ever you feel lost, remember the sunrises we witnessed together—the promise of a new day, no matter how stormy the night.

So, on this snowy Christmas Eve, I raise my cup of chamomile tea to you, Killian. May your days be filled with music, love, and the promise of brighter tomorrows. Merry Christmas and a heartfelt happy eighteenth birthday.

Write back when you can, my dear boy. Let me know how you've fared beyond those walls. And remember, no matter where life takes you, you'll always be my sunrise.

With love and gratitude,

Mme Rose

The room envelops Mia, its air thick with the weight of revelation. The letter trembles in her grasp, its edges frayed as if echoing the scars etched into Killian's soul. Shadows crawl across the walls, insidious tendrils that mirror the darkness she now confronts.

Could it be any other Killian? Mia wondered. The name was common enough, but this one was different.

Her legs tremble as she stands, stumbling over the chair still clutching the letter in her hand. The phone lies on a table, a doorway to answers—or perhaps more questions. Mia reaches for it, her fingers fumbling. She types, the keys echoing her heartbeat: "Killian Survivor of Willowbrook State School."