Forgiveness never felt like something meant for others. Yet it turned out to be more about freeing yourself. That’s what I believed - like forgiveness spreads out, flowing from hurt people to those who did the harm. I pictured it as a door, maybe open, maybe shut. Not forced. Just chosen. Turns out, forgiving yourself usually comes before anyone else. That's when things really sting. The note showed up Tuesday, dropped through the slot with a quiet scratch. Heard it clear from the kitchen - just paper dragging on floorboards. Something about it made my breath catch, no clue why. I wasn't looking forward to much. Lena stood by the window, tending to the greenery while softly singing under her breath. The sun hit the tiny droplets, flinging rainbows around like wishes tossed into air. I hesitated to break the peace - yet that nagging feeling pulled my eyes toward the letter lying flat on the tiles, silent as a pause between heartbeats. I grabbed it. No return address.