December on Bellington Avenue, and the streetlights cast a pale orange glow on the empty sidewalks. I was housesitting for my aunt while she visited her sister in Tucson, a favor that should have been nothing but quiet evenings and watered plants. But the house had a desktop computer in the spare bedroom, a relic from the early 2000s, and it still worked. I found an email draft saved from 2007, never sent, addressed to someone named Cora. The subject line was just a date: November 3rd. I clicked 'edit' instead of 'delete,' and that's when the cursor started moving on its own. A single word appeared in the body: 'Please.' This is what happened when I tried to unsend a message that had been waiting seventeen years for a reply.

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