The words you never got around to saying can still arrive on time.
Write the letters now. Record your voice now. Choose who gets what. Then live your life. If your account ever goes quiet for good, FM2Y delivers everything to the people you named, exactly the way you left it.
Nothing happens without warnings, reminders, and your say-so. Explained below.
You've thought about it. Probably in a car, or at a funeral, or at 2am holding a sleeping kid. The letter you'd want them to have. The story only you can tell. The thing you'd say if you knew it was the last chance to say it.
And then morning comes, and writing that letter feels like admitting something you're not ready to admit. So it waits. It waits for a someday that has a habit of not showing up.
Here's the reframe: this isn't about dying. It's about making sure the people you love never have to wonder.
Legacy mode lets you write it once, today, in ten minutes, and then forget about it. Add a voice note next year. A photo the year after. It sits sealed, growing quietly, doing nothing at all, until the one day it has to do everything.
Four index cards. That's the whole system.
Write it
Letters, voice notes, photos, the stories only you can tell. Add a little at a time, over years if you like. Everything stays sealed and editable.
Set your silence window
You pick the trigger: 180 days of account silence, 365, or longer. Nothing in FM2Y moves a single byte until that window fully closes.
Choose your people
A daughter, a partner, a brother, a best friend. Each person receives exactly what you designated for them, and nothing meant for anyone else.
We keep watch, quietly
As long as you're around, nothing changes. If your account goes quiet, we email you reminders first. Only when the silence holds do we carry out your wishes, with care.
Trusting an app with your last words is a big ask. So ask. Here are the three worries everyone has, answered straight.
What if I just go off the grid for a while?
Then nothing happens. Before any transfer begins, we send you reminder emails, more than one, spaced out. One login, one tap, and the timer resets to zero. Legacy mode never acts on a hunch. It acts on a long, confirmed silence that you defined.
Can I change my mind?
Always, right up until the moment it happens. Rewrite a letter. Remove a recipient. Turn the whole thing off. Your legacy timeline is a living document, not a contract. Some people revise theirs every birthday.
Can anyone read it before then?
Nobody. Not your recipients, not your family, not us. Everything in legacy mode stays sealed until your wishes say otherwise. A letter meant for one person is opened by that one person, and no one else, ever.
You don't need to be ready. You need ten minutes and one honest sentence. Write it, seal it, and get back to living. We'll take care of the rest, whenever the rest comes.