“One last thing.
There is something in the bottom drawer of my desk that belongs to Claire.
Richard, if you are hearing this, you were supposed to give it to her months ago.
Knowing you, you probably forgot the moment I stopped reminding you.”
Dad suddenly froze.
Madison stared.
“Dad.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“The desk.”
His face drained.
“Oh.”
Ethan groaned.
“Please tell me you did not ignore instructions from Mom after she literally predicted you would ignore them.”
“I didn’t ignore them.”
Dad stood.
“I forgot them.”
“That is impressively worse,” Madison said.
He hurried toward the small study off the hallway.
We followed.
Mom’s writing desk still stood under the window.
Dad opened the bottom drawer.
Old stationery.
Receipts.
A sewing tin.
Two photograph envelopes.
Then his hand stopped.
He withdrew a narrow wooden box.
My name was taped to the top.
CLAIRE.
Dad handed it to me.
