His hand slid up under my chin and he raised my face to meet his eyes. I knew he had something he wanted to say. There was something he wanted to tell me. Maybe he wanted to make me not worry. Maybe he wanted to say that everything was going to be ok.

She handed me the letter. It was crumpled and worn. In my hand it was leather, but to my eyes it was still paper. I could tell it hadn’t left her since I gave it to her. I could tell it had spent the last few days in her pocket, in her hand, under her microscope.

Dear whoever you are now, I’m writing in the greatest of concerns. I think that you’ve been mislead. I think you’ve been wronged. Someone has told you that you weren’t good enough. Someone said you weren’t meant to be. Someone told you something that was wrong.