Inside the pillow, nestled among the soft stuffing, was a small wooden box. My breath caught in my throat as I pulled it out, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath my fingers. It was simple yet beautiful, carved with intricate patterns that reminded me of the artisan work from my hometown in Oaxaca. My mind raced with possibilities, each more baffling than the last.
With a deep breath, I opened the box. Inside, I found a collection of letters and photographs. The first letter was addressed to me, in the unmistakable handwriting of Héctor. My heart pounded as I unfolded the paper, the words blurring through my tears.
