" Maybe tell me about those letters. Confession is good for the soul." I expected her to tear into me yet again, but instead she stayed silent for several seconds, running her fingers over the trim of her blanket. " I do belive my soul is past the point of helping." " That's not true. It's never too late." She looked at the town as we walked by, her eyes heavy with fatigue. And an ache so deep, it didn't have a name. I'd seen that look in my own mirror." I gave up that right many years ago," she said. " My fate is like those envelopes-sealed and tossed aside. "