M is for

The path was still muddy from Wednesday’s derecho when I tripped on a tree root. An envelope caked in thick mud stuck to my hand. I carefully unfolded the letter inside. It read:

Anna, Meet me Friday at 3:00 at the burger joint on Madison and Elm. I’ve waited for this for so long! I miss you terribly. Have you thought about my question? If I don’t see you there, I’ll know your answer is no, and you won’t hear from me again … All my love, M.

I flipped the letter over — nothing.

Today is Saturday. Too late. My heart sank.

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