Her older sister handed her the letter. It had remained unopened for nearly twenty years, and all that time she’d been unaware of its existence. Her mother had passed away when she was eight, a long, drawn out terrible battle with an illness she hadn’t said by name since. Her sister, ten years older, had been given the letter with the strictest instructions to keep it safe and secret until her younger sister turned twenty-eight. Today was her birthday. She held the slightly yellowed envelope in her shaking hand, and thought about her mother, the beautiful vibrant woman she had watched wither slowly into a lifeless husk before passing on. She had missed her terribly for as long as she had been gone, and to think that she held right here in her hand a message from beyond the grave was like turning on a warm light in a long dark room. Her fingers trembled as she carefully tore open the envelope, and removed the single sheet of delicate paper. As she unfolded it, her eyes blurred with tears at the sight of her mother’s handwriting. She blinked twice and saw there was but a single sentence on the page: “Hey there, do they have flying cars now?”