She looked so serious that I decided to indulge her. I stepped away from the stove, where I’d been making pancakes for everyone, and sat down at the table.
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.
I still clearly remembered the last time I’d seen my son.
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