She remained perfectly still until I finished explaining.
“Do you want me to call a lawyer?”
“Later.”
I imagined smashing something.
“The kids?”
“Not yet.”
She nodded.
“Then what now?”
I imagined smashing something.
“I need you to bring me something from home tomorrow.”
Then I remembered the cedar keepsake box stored in our basement.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“I need you to bring me something from home tomorrow.”
She came back carrying the box beneath her coat as though she were smuggling contraband.
I searched through it until I found exactly what I needed.
Inside were Daniel’s wedding letter, anniversary cards, photographs, Father’s Day notes, hospital bracelets from both births, and crooked drawings our children had made for him over the years.
I searched through it until I found exactly what I needed.
Our anniversary card from two months earlier.
Daniel had written:
Fifteen years with you still doesn’t feel like enough. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
And a note he’d left in my suitcase before our family vacation six months earlier.
Perfect.
Then I found the Valentine’s Day card.
Still my favorite person. Still my home.
And a note he’d left in my suitcase before our family vacation six months earlier.
Fifteen years in and I’d still choose you.
I contacted a local courier and arranged for the box to be delivered directly to Daniel’s room during visiting hours.
I placed those three items on top.
