{"id":265302,"date":"2026-07-16T14:05:43","date_gmt":"2026-07-16T11:05:43","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/letters-to-heaven-riley-beeson\/"},"modified":"2026-07-16T14:05:43","modified_gmt":"2026-07-16T11:05:43","slug":"letters-to-heaven-riley-beeson","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/1kitap1.com\/en\/letters-to-heaven-riley-beeson\/","title":{"rendered":"Letters To Heaven – Riley Beeson"},"content":{"rendered":"
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My body felt exhausted, limbs tangled in the sheets, warmth still lingering in the air around me. I blinked slowly, turning my head to squint at the glowing red numbers on my digital clock. Ugh. Way too early. Technically I still had five minutes\u2014five whole minutes\u2014before my alarm would go off and force me to exist. Five minutes is sacred. Five minutes is everything. Still, my hand reached for my phone anyway, more out of habit than anything. My fingers brushed over my Bible, the rim of my water glass, a chapstick with no lid, until finally they wrapped around my phone.<\/p>\n

The light stabbed at my eyes, and I groaned, shielding my face with the blanket as I unlocked it. Notifications slowly sharpened through my blur of half-sleep. Eli (not a stalker). Even like that, just his name on the screen, my lips formed into the kind of sleepy smile I couldn\u2019t fight if I tried. It was ridiculous, honestly. But also kind of wonderful.<\/p>\n

I tapped the message, my pulse doing that annoying little flutter thing. Hey Just that. One word. My thumbs didn\u2019t even hesitate before typing back: Hi I stared at the screen, watching, waiting for the little bubble to appear. The one that meant he was still there, on the other side, typing. But nothing came. Just stillness. The room seemed to fall quiet all over again, like it was holding its breath with me.<\/p>\n

My covers were wrapped too tightly around my legs, suddenly too warm, and I shifted, the fan in the corner clicking with each slow turn. A faint line of gold peeked through the curtains, sneaking across the wall. Morning was here, whether I wanted it or not. I let the phone slip onto my chest, the screen going dim. I exhaled slowly, a little sigh that felt too big for the moment but also not big enough. All of a sudden, a sharp, jarring noise ripped through the stillness.<\/p>\n

My alarm. It wasn\u2019t just loud, it was obnoxious, like it had been lying in wait all night, ready to ruin the tiny shred of peace I\u2019d finally found.<\/p>\n

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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.<\/p>\n

Book Cover by Riley Beeson Book Illustration by Riley Beeson OceanofPDF.com For those who hope when hope seems small OceanofPDF.com OceanofPDF.com OceanofPDF.com OceanofPDF.com Chapter 1 It\u2019s been eleven days. Eleven mornings of waking up and, for a few seconds, forgetting she\u2019s gone. My eyes blink open, my body stretches, and I\u2019m already halfway to swinging my legs out of bed when the remembering hits.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s a physical thing, the remembering. Like getting shoved in the chest. I used to think grief would feel soft\u2014like the movies, where you sit quietly with a blanket around your shoulders and cry pretty tears into a mug of tea. But this isn\u2019t soft. This is jagged, relentless. It\u2019s the kind of thing that wakes you up at three a.m. with your heart pounding like you\u2019ve just run up a hill, even though you\u2019re lying still.<\/p>\n

Today is her funeral. Which feels insane to say out loud. I\u2019ve never been to one before. Not for someone this close. Funerals are supposed to be old-people things\u2014 great-aunts you only met twice, neighbors you didn\u2019t really know, someone\u2019s grandfather who always smelled like cigars.<\/p>\n

Not\u2026 her. Everyone keeps handing me tissues like I\u2019m a broken soda machine and they\u2019re just jamming quarters in, hoping something useful comes out. They pile in my lap until I\u2019ve basically built a mountain of Kleenex, and honestly, I don\u2019t even know which ones are new anymore. They all look the same. Damp, crumpled, useless.<\/p>\n

A tissue doesn\u2019t fix this. A tissue is like giving someone a fire extinguisher after their house burned down. The church smells like too much. Too much perfume, too much lemon polish, too many roses sweating in the heat of their vases. It\u2019s an aggressive sweetness, cloying and sharp, like someone sprayed Febreze in your mouth. Underneath it all is dust, old hymn books that haven\u2019t been opened in decades. My black dress sticks to me like shrink wrap.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.<\/em><\/p>\n

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