I never intended to spy on her. But when I noticed the little girl with pigtails slipping letters into an abandoned mailbox, my curiosity took over. What I discovered made me confront the ghosts I’d been running from for two years.

I awoke to a familiar quiet—a softly humming refrigerator and the house settling into its old bones.

The sight of an untouched pillow, once next to me every morning, was another reminder of my solitary life.

Pillows on a bed | Source: Pexels

Two years ago, my mornings were graced by the scent of fresh coffee, the rustle of newspaper pages, and Sarah’s sleepy smile as she caught me gazing at her lovingly.

Now, it was just me, drifting from one silent room to another like a phantom.

“Another thrilling day in paradise,” I muttered into the empty kitchen as I prepared a cup of coffee for one.

Since Sarah’s passing, life had become a monotonous cycle of work, eat, sleep, repeat. I had mastered the art of existing without truly living.

My freelance editing job allowed for long stretches without seeing anyone beyond the grocery store cashier.

A sudden buzz interrupted my solitude. My sister, reaching out yet again. Her third call that week.

I watched the phone ring, unmoving.

Another call I’ll return, I convinced myself.

Just as I had promised the week before. And the week before that.

A phone on a couch | Source: Midjourney

One evening, while collecting my mail, I found something unusual mixed in with the usual bills. An unmarked envelope with child-like handwriting stating, To Dad.

Standing on the porch, I puzzled over the envelope—not meant for me—wondering how it ended up in my mailbox.

Inside was a loose-leaf sheet, filled with not-so-neat but careful writing.

“Dear Dad,

I’m sorry for being mad before you left. I didn’t mean it. Mom says you can still hear me, even though you’re in heaven. I hope she’s right.

I got an A on my science project. Remember our butterfly-catching days in the backyard? I miss them.

Love you a billion stars.

Lily”

I read it twice, each word weighed heavily on my heart.

A man holding a piece of paper | Source: Midjourney

Sarah and I had dreamed of having children. We had chosen potential names for our future family. But those were dreams of a tomorrow that would never be.

“To Dad,” I echoed softly, tracing the letters with a finger.

I never had the chance to be someone’s dad.

I folded the note back into its envelope, thinking returning it was the proper thing to do.

I had noticed a young girl at play a few houses down. That seemed like a good starting point.

The woman who answered the door appeared worn out—the kind of tiredness sleep doesn’t wash away. As I explained about the letter, confusion gave way to understanding in her eyes.

“Lily’s father passed away last year,” she spoke softly. “Writing to him is her way to cope.”

“I understand,” I offered, though my voice failed to mask the roughness of my emotions. “Loss is…complicated. The letter wound up in my box by accident, so I wanted to ensure she received it.”

She took the envelope with a grateful nod. “Thank you for returning it. You have no idea how much it means.”

Walking home, a question nagged at me. If Lily writes to her father, where does she post them?

Obviously not in her home mailbox, given that one letter somehow ended up in mine.

A few days later, I spotted Lily while I was taking the trash out. She carried another envelope, her pigtails bouncing with each step. But instead of going home, she stopped at a rusted mailbox in front of the old, uninhabited Miller house.

No one had lived there for years.

A girl standing outside an abandoned house | Source: Midjourney

I watched her court the mailbox, stealthy as if in a ceremony meant to be private.

That night, on my return from a rare evening walk, I couldn’t shake the thought of Lily and the rusted mailbox. Almost on impulse, I found myself standing in front of it. The idea that someone might take her letters bothered me.

Double-checking to confirm anyone was out of sight, I opened the mailbox.

Empty.

Looking again, maybe the letter had slipped somewhere below, but no, it wasn’t there. Someone had taken it.

The thought that someone might meddle with a child’s mourning twisted my stomach.

For the first time in months, I felt an emotion beyond my own grief—a protective curiosity.

This spark would lead me to unexpected discoveries.

A man walking down a street | Source: Midjourney

The next evening, a half-crazy idea found me parked across from the abandoned house, waiting. What kind of middle-aged man watches mailboxes?

But I wanted to know who took those letters.

As darkness descended, a figure approached the mailbox. He was tall and thin, carrying invisible burdens on hunched shoulders.

He checked around before gently retrieving Lily’s letter and tucked it into his jacket.

A man standing near a mailbox | Source: Midjourney

I followed him discreetly at a distance, eventually reaching a modest apartment complex at the town’s fringe.

Number 14 was his final destination.

For twenty challenging minutes, I debated my next move. This was none of my concern. I could retreat to my solitary existence.

Yet, I found myself knocking on door number 14, heart racing.

When he opened the door, I confronted a man near my age, though his face bore more weathered marks of time. His eyes widened, surprised and cautious.

“Can I help you?” His voice held a wary note.

Directness was key. “I saw you collect the letter addressed to Lily.”