But this time, before she left, she unfolded the note. It was in her father’s handwriting, the letters slanting left like a man always leaning toward the exit. It said only: I’m sorry I wasn’t the person you needed me to be. But I was the person I knew how to be.
She refolded it. Placed it back. Then she walked out, turned the key, and heard the lock click—polite, apologetic, final. Baileys Room Zip
Now, at seventeen, she understood too much. But this time, before she left, she unfolded the note