Ella
I know. Me too.
I read those four words, and anger pours out of me. My skin feels red-hot, my eyes burning.
How dare someone write on the letter that was supposed to be for my mum, not anyone else. How can someone think they share the same pain as I do? They wrote the words 'I know' . But they DON'T know. They don't know anything about me, or what my life is like.
Wait.
How long ago did this person write this?
I look around frantically, half-wishing to see a suspicious-looking person so I can pay them out right now, half-wishing that I don't because I might just explode.
Thankfully, I don't see anyone in sight.
Except Barry. But he's always here. Cleaning up the dead flowers that people leave behind. The letters that I write.
It's not him, is it?
No, no. It can't be. He's forty-something and looks like about the happiest person I know. And you gotta give him some credit. I mean, he works in a cemetery.
I almost go up to him and complain, but I think of my mum. Of what she would say.
Be kind, Ella. Only kind.
I pull out my pen and start writing. To this random boy.
Boy? Girl?
I'm almost sure it's a boy. I can tell from the shaky, sloppy writing.
After I write back, I leave without even writing anything to my mother.
I don't realise until I'm home and in bed.
I've talked -no, written- to her every day. Except for today. Because I let some stupid boy get in the way of my dead mother.
YOU ARE READING
Writing to You
RomanceElla Montgomery always wrote letters to her mother. Even four months after her mother's death, she still does. The only difference is, she doesn't get a reply. Until now. Noah Hunter is shy and sensitive. He hides his grief behind small smiles and...
