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had bled through just enough to be visible. A hand-written letter. In a daze, I eased the paper out and unfolded it. A piece of paper hidden inside fell to the table, but my eyes were already busy seeking out his name at the bottom of the letter.
    The signature was all-too familiar and obviously genuine. This wasn’t a hoax.
    Brandon had finally contacted me.

    V anessa ,
    I’ve thrown away at least six drafts of this letter to you, too uncertain of how to even begin. Should I be greeting you fondly? Would you welcome it if I did? Our last meeting didn’t exactly end on good terms, but I truly hope this letter finds you well. Or at least as well as you can be given the circumstances.
    Since I pretty much gave myself away with that last line, I might as well jump right to the point. I’ve been informed that you recently became unemployed. Strangely, I assumed you had been laid off or perhaps even fired only to find out that you quit. Did you not enjoy nursing like you thought you would? I don’t presume to have an answer to that, although I do hope it’s untrue. I’m contacting you because other than just being aware of your unemployment, I’m also aware of your financial distress. I hope that you carefully consider my offer.
    I’ll be undergoing a mildly serious surgery soon and it’s been recommended by my surgeon that I have a live-in nurse for the six weeks following it. He assures me that I’ll be well enough to return to my normal schedule after only two, but I’ll need to be monitored for signs of infection, amongst other things. While I do have a doctor I trust to perform the surgery, I don’t have a nurse lined up and I’m not fond of the idea of letting a stranger live in my home.
    I wouldn’t ask this of you if the circumstances weren’t so extreme. Believe me—I’d rather ask anyone else. But my options are incredibly limited. I assure you that you’ll be well compensated for the six weeks of your assistance. I’ve already spoken to your landlord and paid the next two months of your rent. That way you know your apartment will be left untouched and ready for your return. Even if you choose not to help me, consider it my thanks for even considering this.
    I’ve included a plane ticket with this letter, dated to bring you here three days before my surgery. That way you’ll have a chance to converse with the doctor about what you’ll need to do post-op and a little time to settle in. I’ve also arranged a car to pick you up from the airport.
    I suppose that’s really all there is to say. Or at least all I’m willing to say in this form of communication.
    ~ Brandon Jensen

Chapter 6
    March 2015

    M y birthday came and went , spent in a slightly-drunken daze as I continued to consider Brandon’s offer. Nothing noteworthy had happened since the day I got the letter and now it was only a day away from the date of departure listed on the plane ticket that was currently stuck to the door of my refrigerator with a magnet. A constant reminder of the letter that I had read a million times.
    I stood in front of my fridge and stared at the ticket, still mentally debating about taking him up on it. On one hand, my heart was screaming at me to go. My curiosity would never be satisfied if I passed up the opportunity.
    On the other hand, my mind kept reminding me of the beginning of his letter and the fact that the last time we spoke, it hadn’t gone well. Years had passed, but I could still recall just how unpleasant it had been.
    I wandered into my bedroom and spared a glance to my open suitcase, half-packed and practically begging me to finish. I sighed and went to my closet, digging deep into the back until I reached the emerald green dress Brandon insisted on buying for me so many years ago.
    As I ran my fingertips against the soft material, I idly wondered if it still fit. I hadn’t so much as looked at the dress in years, too much of a reminder of both the pleasant memories we shared as well as the