I opened the box.
The kitchen suddenly felt too small.
My hands shook as I lifted out a stack of cash. Then I saw what lay beneath the cash, right at the bottom, and my heart nearly stopped.
For ten years, I’d been living a lie.
I opened the box.
I shook my head. This didn’t make sense.
I still clearly remembered the last time I’d seen my son, Daniel, and his wife, Laura. They’d dropped all seven children off at my place for a visit during the summer vacation.
I had laughed and said, « This feels like I’ve been invaded. »
Daniel had grinned, kissed my cheek, and said, « You love it. Just don’t send them back too spoiled. »
By midnight, the sheriff was at my door, telling me they’d both died in a terrible accident.
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