Everyone has stories about the post office losing mail or packages arriving late, but what happened to me last week defies all logical explanation.I walked out to my mailbox on a Tuesday, expecting nothing but the usual bills and junk mail. But buried beneath a stack of flyers for pizza and insurance was a small, yellowed envelope that looked like it had been through a war. The corners were bent, the paper was brittle, and it bore a stamp that hadn't been in circulation for decades.When I looked at the handwriting in the center of the envelope, my heart nearly stopped beating. It was the distinct, slanted script of my father.
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