He examined it carefully, then looked at me and asked, “Why does it have a secret pocket?” I frowned, confused. He pointed to a tiny flap at the back of the bear, hidden under the stitching. My curiosity was instantly piqued. I gently tugged at the seam, and to my surprise, a small envelope slid out.
Inside was a short, handwritten note. It read: “I know you don’t like gifts like this, but this bear isn’t just a toy. It’s a reminder to look beyond what’s obvious. If we ever grow apart, I hope you find this and know that I always wanted to understand you better.” Reading those words after all this time made my chest tighten—not with sadness, but with a kind of quiet understanding I didn’t have back then.
My nephew watched me closely and asked, “Are you going to throw it away now?” I shook my head with a soft smile. “No,” I said, placing the bear back carefully. “Some things aren’t meant to be thrown away. They remind us of who we were, how far we’ve come, and sometimes… what we missed the first time.”
