Lucy bit the tip of her pen, trying to compose the perfect message to her mother. She hadn’t seen her for three years and a tenth birthday was really quite special.
“What shall I put, Dad?” She looked up at her portly father, who placed his mug of tea on the table (at a precise 35 degree angle) and steepled his fingers.
“Write from the heart,” he said. “Your mother will read it where she is. She’ll understand.”
Lucy looked down and bit her lip, an endearing habit she’d picked up from her Aunt Julie. She began to write.
Dear Mom, I miss you. Love, Lucy.