“Hersh…”
His name broke apart halfway out.
The concern in his face returned immediately. “Flick, what is it?”
I shook my head once.
Then again.
Because I didn’t know how to say this without breaking both of us open.
Finally, barely able to breathe, I whispered:
“He hid them.”
Hersh frowned slightly.
“What?”
A tear slid down my cheek.
I didn’t wipe it away this time.
“Your letters.”
Silence.
Complete silence.
The storm outside seemed to disappear.
The room.
The air.
Everything.
Hersh stared at me like he’d stopped understanding English.
“My father hid them,” I whispered shakily. “All of them.”
Nothing in his face moved.
Not immediately.
Which somehow hurt worse.
Then slowly…
very slowly…
the color drained from his face.
“You never got them?”
There it was.
That shattered whisper.
