childhood

The letter waiting on her bed looked crumpled and grubby, yellowed with age. She switched on the bedside lamp, shrugged out of the heavy habit and hung it in the wardrobe. Clad only in her shift, she sat down with a sigh of relief, ruffled her short hair, then picked up the envelope and held it under the meagre light. Not a handwriting she was familiar with. Scrawled, immature letters…