Between the Past and the Future

After the group chat conversation, I placed my phone on the nightstand next to my bed. The room was silent, as it always was when I returned home. My father was probably still at the office; he rarely came home during the day. But this time, something felt different. When I entered the kitchen, I found a covered tray containing a prepared lunch. There was no note or message, but I knew it was from him. It was his way of making sure I ate something decent, though he'd never say it out loud.

I went upstairs to my room, my mind distracted. As I opened the door, something immediately caught my attention: a white envelope carefully placed on my desk. I recognized the handwriting instantly. It was my mother's.

My heart skipped a beat. I knew exactly what it was. A few days ago, my father had found a letter she had written for me before she passed away—a letter meant for my birthday, written years ago when she was still alive. Now, after all this time, he had finally decided to give it to me. Or at least leave it here, without saying a word.

I slowly approached the desk and picked up the envelope with both hands. It was intact, as if it had been kept with great care all these years. On the front, in her familiar handwriting, it said: "Open on your birthday, dear."

I felt a mix of emotions I couldn't fully describe. Curiosity, nostalgia, fear… everything was swirling inside me. I wanted to open it. I needed to know what she had written, what words she had left for me before everything changed. But at the same time, I felt like I shouldn't. Opening it now would feel like betraying her wishes.

I sat on the bed, holding the envelope in my hands, as the words echoed in my mind. "Open on your birthday, dear." Those instructions were clear, and though my father had never mentioned anything about the letter, I knew he would have respected her wish too.

Finally, after several minutes of internal debate, I decided to leave it where it was. It was only two months until my birthday. I could wait. I would keep it until then, just as she had planned.

I carefully placed the envelope in the drawer of my desk, closing it gently. I stared at the drawer for a moment, as if I could see through the wood and decipher what was inside. But I didn't. Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to focus on something else.

Dusk arrived faster than I expected. I heard the sound of the front door opening and my father's firm footsteps echoing down the hallway. I knew it was him. Victor Steele, a serious man, disciplined and practically incapable of showing emotion. For him, everything was about work, responsibility, and meeting expectations. It had always been that way, even before my mother passed away.

I heard his steps approaching my room. For a moment, I thought he would simply walk past, as he usually did. But then, he stopped in front of my door and opened it without knocking.

"Sack," he said in his usual tone, firm but controlled. "How's it going? Are you excelling as you should?"

I looked up at him. He stood in the doorway, impeccably dressed in his suit, his expression unchanging. There was no trace of fatigue on his face, though I knew he had been working for hours.

"I'm fine," I replied, keeping my tone neutral. "Classes are going well. Nothing out of the ordinary."

He nodded briefly, as if he had already expected that answer.

"Good. That's what I expect from you. You're not just my son; you're also a Steele. You have a reputation to uphold."

I didn't respond. There was nothing I could say that I hadn't said before. For him, everything boiled down to meeting family expectations, to being the best at everything. Sometimes I wondered if he ever saw beyond that, if he ever saw me as more than an extension of his legacy.

There was a brief, awkward silence. Then, just as I thought he would leave, he added something else.

"Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. There will be a dinner at the company. Some of the most important businessmen in the country will be there. I expect you to behave appropriately."

My eyes darted to him, surprised for a moment. It wasn't the first time he had asked me to attend events like this, but it always made me equally uncomfortable. I wasn't good at these social situations, especially when they involved pretending to be interested in superficial conversations about business and politics.

"Understood," I finally responded, trying to hide my frustration.

He looked at me for another second, as if evaluating my reaction. Then, without saying anything else, he turned and walked away. I heard his footsteps retreating down the hallway, followed by the sound of his study door slamming shut.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a notification from the group chat. Olivia had suggested a quick video call to "end the day in style," as she put it. I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, though I knew she probably just wanted to make sure we were all okay before the family chaos officially began.

I joined the call from my bed. On the screen appeared the familiar faces of Olivia and Lindsay. Olivia was lying stomach-down on her bed, with Lord Whiskers purring contentedly beside her, while Lindsay was seated at her desk, a steaming cup of tea in front of her.

"Finally! I thought I'd have to send a drone to fetch you," Olivia said, pretending to be offended. "What kind of friends disappear just when I need them most?"

"I think that's exactly what we did today," Lindsay replied with a smile. "But you know how it is: family, coming home, drama… the usual."

Olivia made a dramatic gesture with her hands, as if she were the protagonist of an epic movie.

"Exactly. Drama. That's why I needed this video call. I need a moment of peace before my second aunt arrives with her five kids and the real chaos begins. I'm talking about yelling, excessive laughter, and someone trying to cook something no one will want to eat."

Lindsay and I exchanged an amused glance through the screen.

"Has your family arrived yet?" I asked, curious.

"No, but they're about to. My second cousins are coming a day early this year because, according to them, 'they want to make the most of the time together,'" Olivia explained with a theatrical sigh. "So technically, this is my last night of freedom. Enjoy me while you can."

Lindsay let out a small laugh.

"Well, at least your family makes everything interesting. Mine is more… quiet. Though my grandparents are coming tomorrow, which is unusual because they normally only come for Christmas."

"Really?" Olivia asked, clearly intrigued. "And why are they coming now? Do they have some secret plan or something?"

Lindsay shrugged.

"I'm not sure. Something about wanting to talk to me about… I don't know, the future, I guess. My dad says it's important, but he didn't go into details."

The conversation flowed naturally, as it always did between us. However, I noticed Lindsay looking at me curiously for a few seconds, as if debating whether to say something or not. Finally, she decided to speak.

"Sack, can I ask you something?" she said, her tone more serious.

"Sure," I replied, feeling a small pang of nervousness.

"It's about the letter… your mom's. Have you opened it?"

I shook my head.

"No. I decided to wait until my birthday, as she wrote on the envelope. It's only two months away. I can wait."

Lindsay nodded slowly, as if processing my words.

"I think you did the right thing. Respecting her wishes is important. But I also want you to know that if you decide to open it earlier, it wouldn't be wrong. Sometimes circumstances change, and it's okay to adapt to them."

"Thanks," I replied simply, feeling a small sense of relief at sharing my thoughts with someone else. "I guess I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about it."

"I understand," Lindsay said with a warm smile. "And remember, we're here for you, no matter what."

Olivia, who had been listening silently for a few seconds, raised her hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Emotional moment detected! But, unfortunately, I have to go. I just heard my aunt's car pulling up. Get ready for pictures of my cat wearing a turkey hat tomorrow."

We both laughed at her comment.

"We'll be waiting for those pictures," I said, smiling.

"Take care, Olivia," Lindsay added. "And try to survive the chaos."

"I'll try," Olivia responded with a wink before disconnecting.

The call continued for a few more minutes between Lindsay and me. We briefly talked about the Thanksgiving dinner at the company and how it would likely be an event filled with uncomfortable formalities. Lindsay reminded me that I could count on her if I needed to talk afterward, something I appreciated more than I could express.