The house was quiet in that heavy, aching way that only came after nightfall, when the world fell still and the memories grew louder. Tom sat at the desk near the window, a single candle burning low beside him.

He’d been staring at the parchment for a long time, the quill resting between his fingers, unmoving. He had written the salutation an hour ago...

Mattheo,

And then nothing.

Because how did you speak to a ghost? How did you speak to a brother you weren’t even sure was still alive?

Tom took a slow breath, and dipped the quill once more.

It now marks one year since you disappeared, little brother.

Tom paused, swallowing down the bitterness that threatened to rise. His handwriting was steadier than his pulse.

One year it has taken me to realise that without you by my side, many things do not matter anymore.

His jaw clenched; he hated admitting weakness, even on a page no eyes might ever see. But maybe that was why the truth came more easily here.

I could have prevented this. I could have stopped this from happening, and you could have been by my side… by her side.

He closed his eyes and, for a moment, saw you, shaking and exhausted, clutching the baby with Mattheo’s eyes. Tom hadn’t known how to hold a baby. He hadn’t known how to comfort someone whose world had seemingly collapsed. But he’d tried.

And he kept trying.

He dipped the quill again, more determined now.

The only thing that keeps me going is knowing I have your little girl to protect… to not make the same mistakes I did with you.

His breath trembled.

She is my second chance.

The candle flame flickered, catching the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes... he blinked it away.

I hope I do you proud, little brother, even if it is for the first time ever.

He signed the letter, folded the parchment and sealed it.

Was Mattheo out there somewhere?

He didn’t know.

Nevertheless, he sent it, calling the owl that always seemed to wait for his letters and carefully tying the parchment to its leg. The owl gave him a long, almost knowing look before taking flight into the night.

Only then did he allow his shoulders to sag, his façade slipping for just a moment. He braced his hands on the desk and bowed his head.

A soft creak broke the silence and Tom straightened instantly.

You stood in the doorway with your daughter tucked safely in your arms, her small fist curled around the fabric of your shirt.

You looked like someone who had learned to survive heartbreak by continuing to love anyway.

Tom swallowed, pushing down the ache in his throat.

“She woke up,” you whispered gently.

His gaze softened. “Come here,” he murmured, reaching out.

You moved closer, letting him take her. Your daughter settled into his arms with a familiarity that still startled him sometimes, as if she recognised something in him that reminded her of the father she had never known.

Tom held her close, his expression softening in a way it rarely did. A way you’d only ever seen in moments like this.

You watched him for a long moment. “Everything okay?”

Tom glanced towards the window, towards the darkness where the owl had vanished... and then back at you.

He nodded once. “Yes,” he said softly. “I think it will be.”