Will turned it over in his hands. After a few moments, he took the letter outside and with a beating heart, tore the envelope open.

Dear Uncle Will,

You may never get to read this, and it feels really spooky to be writing when maybe what I say will only get lost or screwed up and thrown away. My therapist says I should write out my most worrying thoughts, then burn them, letting the sparks fly up to Heaven to be purified. Weird, or what!

Do you remember the rabbit? It ran away last week, and we caught it under Mr Bloomfield’s car. It was lucky we got it out, it could have been run over. I think Mr Bloomfield was more worried about his brake cables, whatever they are!

I have a new mum and dad now. I expect you know that. I hear Annette and Philip talk to you sometimes, they always say it is someone else, but I know it’s you. They will never take the place of my real mum and dad, but they are very kind to me, and I am sorry because I think I have been horrible to them. Dr A. says it is not my fault, it is because I have been ill, and they still love me. I hope so. Dr A. says my therapist is right to tell me to write things out, so I decided to write to you.