Beyond

Letters from past lives

Piper's fingers trembled as she held the delicate, yellowed paper, the ink still bold against the faded surface. She sat cross-legged on the dusty floor of the attic, surrounded by old boxes and forgotten trinkets, her heart racing as she glanced down at the letter she had just uncovered. It had been hidden inside an old journal, tucked away in one of the many boxes her aunt had left behind. The handwriting was unfamiliar, but something about the careful penmanship and the intimate tone drew her in immediately. With a deep breath, Piper began to read.

My Dearest Matilda,

It feels like an eternity since I last held you in my arms. Every day here without you is a dull ache, a constant reminder of how much I miss you. How much I miss us.

Piper's heart skipped a beat. The words felt intimate, far more personal than she would have ever imagined. It was a letter, addressed to Matilda, her aunt, a gentle and caring woman, who Piper had always thought of as a single woman, someone who had chosen her independence over family. She continued reading, her eyes scanning the page with growing intensity.

I look at our son, his laughter echoing through the house, and it both warms my heart and makes me yearn even more for the life we should be living together, the life that is just out of reach. I think about you constantly, carrying our little girl, and it pains me that I cannot be there with you. I should be at your side, feeling her kicks, listening to your heartbeat, preparing for her arrival together.

Piper froze. Our little girl? She was very confused about this revelation. Her mind raced. This couldn't be right. Matilda didn't have children. She had never been married—at least, that's what she had always believed. That's what she'd been told. But here it was, written—Matilda was carrying a child. How come she had been pregnant not once but twice and she'd never met her cousins or uncle?

But I know why we've made the choices we've made. You being in that world is what's best for her, for all of us, no matter how much it breaks me. I can't help but dream of the life we could have — you, me, Eamon, and our daughter, all together.

Sometimes, in those quiet moments when I look out over the fields, I imagine us raising her together. I see her running through the tall grass, laughing with her brother, her spirit wild and free, just like yours. I picture us sitting at the hearth, telling them stories of both worlds, teaching her about her heritage, and watching her grow into the remarkable woman I know she will become.

Piper's chest tightened, and her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. She glanced around the attic, as if somehow it would offer her an explanation, but the room remained silent, haunted only by the ghosts of the past. She blinked her eyes with confusion and unbelief. Eamon? The name struck her like a cold gust of wind. That was her friend's name. The Eamon she had just met in the other world. What were the chances? Her heart raced as she read on, barely comprehending the implications as the words unfurled before her.

But I also know... we can't have that life. Not now. I understand the prophecy, the weight it carries, and how dangerous it would be to keep her here with us, with me. Her path is already written in the stars, and I can't alter it, no matter how much I wish I could. She is destined for something far greater than any of us can fully comprehend, and that path begins with Isabella. Your sister will raise Piper with love and care, in a world where she can remain safe, hidden from the dangers that would follow her in this realm.

I trust Isabella with all my heart. She will give her a good life, and that comforts me, even though it doesn't lessen the ache of not raising her myself. And I know you feel the same, though we both wrestle with it in our own ways. It's hard to reconcile that she will grow up calling another woman "Mother" and not knowing me. But still, I dream of what could have been—our little family, whole and complete.