Her letter felt so... genuine.

Her words came deep from her heart. Her handwriting, the one she had used to write you love letters, hadn't changed a bit.

The only diffrence was, she wasn't writing a love letter. She was asking for help.

The relationship between you and her had ended messily. You knew you were a fool for coming.

But yet, against your better judgement, here you were, at the door of the house Mary was staying in, still hesitating if you should knock.

Suddenly, the door opened.