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SALMA

I was standing in the kitchen, making coffee like any other normal morning, when I heard the mail slip through the slot in the door.

It was nothing unusual.

Bills, coupons, the occasional flyer for a new restaurant opening up.

But this time, something felt different.

There was an odd sense of anticipation as I walked over to the door, almost like I knew something unexpected was waiting for me.

And there it was—an envelope, cream-colored, heavier than the rest of the junk.

My name, Salma, written in delicate gold cursive across the front.

No return address.

I frowned, feeling a weird sensation in my chest.

Something about the handwriting felt familiar, though I couldn't place it at first.

I held the envelope for a moment, weighing it in my hands, trying to shake off the unease creeping up my spine.

When I finally tore it open, the words on the invitation made my heart stop.

"You are cordially invited to the wedding of Vito Moretti and..."

I stopped reading.

The rest of the words blurred into the background as his name burned into my mind.

Vito.

It couldn't be.

After all these years... why now?

Why me?

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