Do Not Write Back

Three years ago, you withdrew to a remote estate. No visitors. No obligations. Letters arrived only rarely, and never from anyone who mattered.

Then one came from Edmund.

He was your neighbour growing up. He vanished the winter you were fourteen, without a word. You had stopped expecting to hear from him.

He writes warmly. He asks careful questions. He remembers things about you that you had nearly forgotten yourself.

And then, gradually, he begins to remember things he could not possibly know.