After My Grandma’s Death, My Husband Rushed Me to Sell Her House — When I Learned the Reason, I Was Furious and Made Him Regret It
The Letter in the Attic That Saved Me My name is Mira, I’m 36 years old, and I live just outside Portland, Oregon, in a quiet little neighborhood where people still wave when they see you. The kind of place where kids ride bikes until the streetlights flicker on and everyone’s front yards smell faintly of rain and fresh grass. From the outside, my life looked perfect—almost too perfect. I’d been married to Paul for seven years. He was 38, tall and polished, always wearing crisp shirts even on weekends.