If only you knew HER.

THE ANONYMOUS LETTER

The dim light from the café’s single window spilled onto the empty street, casting long shadows as the rain drizzled down. Inside, Anthony wiped the counter with slow, methodical strokes. His hands, once steady and strong, trembled slightly. He had been trying to keep them still for years now, but guilt was a heavy burden, and it had worn him down.

The café was quiet. It always was at this hour. It was exactly the kind of life he had hoped for when he left the past behind—a small, unremarkable existence where no one asked questions, where no one remembered his face. Where he could pretend to forget.

But some things couldn’t be forgotten.

He glanced at the clock—closing time. He let out a weary sigh and tossed the rag under the counter, grateful for the solitude the night brought him. Just as he reached to flip the sign to "closed," the soft tinkling of the doorbell interrupted him. A gust of cold wind swept in, followed by a single envelope that fluttered down to the floor like a ghost.

No one was there.

Anthony hesitated, staring at the envelope. There was no address, no stamp—just his name, written in a hand he didn’t recognize. He bent down, his breath shallow, and picked it up, feeling the weight of something dark in his chest.

His fingers tore at the seal, his heart beating faster than it had in years. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded once. The words, written in neat, deliberate strokes, were simple.

I know what you did. Meet me where it all began.

Anthony’s legs went weak, and he slumped into the nearest chair, staring at the paper in disbelief. His throat tightened as memories he had long buried clawed their way to the surface.

Lily.

He could still see her face. The panic in her eyes when she realized she wasn’t getting out alive. The way her voice had cracked as she begged for her life. He hadn’t wanted to be there. He had no choice. They had told him what would happen if he didn’t play his part. Anthony had been many things, but he wasn’t a killer. He never had been. But that didn’t matter now.

He had betrayed her. He had led her to her death.

He didn’t need to wonder who had sent the letter. He already knew. And the thought chilled him to his core. Lily was dead, but this letter—this letter meant she wasn’t gone. Not completely. Someone knew. Someone who wanted him to pay for what he had done.

He sat in silence, the rain outside now a steady hum against the windows. Guilt gnawed at him, the same guilt he had tried to smother every single day since her death. He had run as far as he could from the man he used to be, but he could never outrun the memories. He had hoped that his small, quiet life would offer some peace, that maybe if he worked hard enough, if he suffered long enough, he might be forgiven—by the world, or maybe by himself.

But forgiveness, it seemed, was never coming.

The letter crinkled in his shaking hand. He glanced at the words again, but the meaning didn’t change.

Meet me where it all began.

There was only one place that could be—the old warehouse by the sea,the place where her life had ended, and his own had unraveled. He swallowed hard, feeling the bile rise in his throat. He wasn’t sure what frightened him more—the idea that Lily might be alive or that someone was coming for him because of what he’d done.

He stood up, feeling the weight of years settle on his shoulders. There was no escaping this. Not anymore. He would have to face it, just like he should have faced it all those years ago. Maybe this was his reckoning. Maybe this was what he deserved.

Anthony walked to the back of the café, flicking off the lights as he went. In the dark, the walls seemed to close in on him, pressing the past into every corner of his mind. He locked the door behind him, pocketed the letter, and stepped out into the rain. He didn’t bother to put up his hood as the cold water dripped down his face, mingling with the sweat on his brow.

He knew someone is digging up the past and it's going to be the end of them all.