Marcus

He stepped out of the shower, his hair damp, his robe soft, the room smelling of fresh coffee. His gaze fell on the postcard on the table. Familiar handwriting. He smiled.

I sat down on the couch and opened the envelope. I finished reading it and smiled wider than I expected. I closed my eyes for a moment. Then I carefully folded the card, picked up my phone, and dialed your number.

“Hello?” the voice is quieter than usual, with a slight hoarseness.