everything will be alright

The letter remained in its envelope, Bobby having placed it back in there, folded neatly like it had been before he'd opened it. He knew putting it back wouldn't undo its contents, nor the opinion of his parents who had sent it; he just didn't want to read it again.

Three times he'd pored over the carefully handwritten note, the fluid cursive instantly recognizable as his mother's, deliberately spelling out their wishes. He was not to contact them in any way, shape, or form, and, as far as they were concerned, he didn't exist. It was as simple as that for them. Putting it into words made it true for them, he supposed, made it canon, law, official.

There was nothing he could do about it, that was that, it was set in stone. So he carefully folded the piece of paper, so delicate and light for having such hard and heavy contents etched upon it, and laid it back down on his desk, where it sat ignored.

He'd put it away because the letter was the coldest thing he'd ever touched, which said a lot considering who he was and what he could do. Maybe there was some of his parents in him after all.