Four years later she woke around 4 a.m., long before Peter. She pulled herself up and out of bed, smoothing her nightgown over her ripe stomach. Her ankles ached. If she was being honest, everything ached. She'd always had trouble sleeping, and her growing stomach didn't make it any easier. She slipped on her house shoes and made her way to the sunporch to spend the early summer morning reading, feeling the cool, early air through the screens.

She made her way instinctively down the hallway and into the kitchen, careful not to turn the light one as she went. Maci was a dedicated German Shepard, and any movement or noise caused her to spring into action. Eleanor didn't want to wake Peter. She already kept him awake with her tossing and turning.

She successfully stepped through the threshold of the sunporch and pulled the door softly to a close behind her. Taking a blanket from the center ottoman, she wrapped it around her torso and sunk into the soft, patio furniture. Usually, she pulled out her phone or looked at a magazine, but this morning she was content to just sit. Her eyes gradually closed. Right as she was about to drift off, Maci's barking echoed through the house. She jumped, instinctively clutching her stomach and struggling to push the sliding door open.

Maci was perched at one of the front windows, ears up, eyes alert. Barking unrelentingly at whatever had caught her eye.

"Maci!" She gently stroked the top of the dogs head and peered out into the early morning. Nothing. The dog was barking at nothing. She walked to the door and switched on the porch light. Still nothing. "Do you need to go out, girl?" She opened the from the door, motioning Maci outside. The dog stayed in place.

She shook her head, but before closing the door, noticed a yellow envelope situated purposefully on the second step of the porch. She looked around cautiously for any sign of a trespasser. Satisfied with the quiet morning air, she walked out, the boards cool on her bare feet, and retrieved it.

To her initial disappointment, the envelope was empty save for a small scrap of paper in the right corner. Had it not been folded carefully, she would have guessed it was an old gas receipt or piece of scrap paper. The whole envelope was probably from the garbage, she thought, but she pulled the small paper curiously from its yellow container. It wasn't a receipt. It was a channel guide from St. Joseph's. She recognized it from the hours she'd spent watching hospital TV while her father slept. She turned it over, searching for an explanation, and revealing a few, haggard words scrawled on the back.

"Elena, for your wedding day,

You look beautiful. I love you.

To the moon,

Dad"

She stood in disbelief. Her father had passed away six years ago. The note couldn't truly be from him unless he was writing from the grave. She suddenly felt exposed as she realized she had failed to close the front door. The morning air drifted through the orifice and played at her hair. Though she stood alone, she felt as if someone were watching. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and she slowly backed away from the opening.

She stopped. There was something written on the other side of the envelope. In faded ink, she saw a glimpse of the past she had left behind.

"Here's to the rest of our lives.

Jon."

Directly above it in newer, fresher ink, scrawled in the same handwriting was another message.

"Thought you might want this. Congrats, L."

She smiled and traced her fingers over the envelope she held so many years ago. Feelings of sadness and guilt overwhelmed her. She took a deep breath, clutching the envelope close to her chest. She also felt a sense of relief.

"Everything okay?" Peter said behind her. She jumped at the sound of his voice and the touch of his icy fingers.

"Yeah just – just couldn't sleep." She quickly wiped the forming tears from the corners of her eyes.

"What's that?" He reached for the envelope, but she quickly pulled it away.

"Nothing just…" She trailed off, not knowing how to explain. "It's just something from an old friend."