Claire and I are getting married next month.
We’d love the boys to attend.
I didn’t answer.
On their wedding morning, I made pancakes, promised the boys a movie marathon, and tried to pretend it was an ordinary Saturday.
Then Elliot appeared in the kitchen carrying a cardboard box.
“Mom, I need you to help me send this.”
“What is it?”
“A wedding present for Dad.”
My stomach tightened.
“Elliot, sweetheart, I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret.”
“I’m not.”
“What’s inside?”
He looked down at the box.
“Everything Dad said he was tired of.”
After he assured me there was nothing dangerous or cruel inside, I reluctantly agreed to arrange delivery.
An hour later, my phone rang.
Daniel was shouting.
“JENNA!
HOW COULD YOU LET HIM DO THIS?”
Behind him, I heard Claire demanding that someone take the box away.
Elliot stood beside me, silent and trembling.
Through the phone, I heard someone reading handwritten labels attached to a pacifier, a toy truck, grocery receipts, soccer schedules, tiny socks, and a child’s drawing.
Each item carried a memory.
Each memory belonged to a family Daniel had abandoned.
Then someone reached the bottom.
A woman said, “There’s a letter.”
Claire’s voice sharpened.
“Give me that.”
Paper rustled.
Daniel suddenly sounded frightened.
“Claire, don’t read it.”
But she had already unfolded the yellowed page.
And when she recognized her new husband’s handwriting, she began reading aloud.
