He had expected relief.

Instead, he found himself trying to remember whether he had said goodbye.

He hadn’t.

Chapter Three – The House on Willow Street

The funeral was attended by twenty-three people.

Daniel counted them because counting gave him something to do.

There were former neighbors, two women from his mother’s church, a retired librarian, several people he didn’t recognize, and a man named Thomas Bell who introduced himself as Evelyn’s attorney.

The service was brief.

Daniel didn’t speak.

Afterward, Thomas approached him near the cemetery gate.

“Your mother left you the house.”

Daniel shook his head.

“I don’t want it.”

“She also left instructions concerning some personal belongings.”

“Donate everything.”

Thomas studied him.

“Mr. Mercer, I think you should visit the property before making that decision.”

“Why?”

“Because there are things there she wanted you to see.”

Daniel almost laughed.

Even dead, his mother had found a way to demand his attention.

But Rebecca touched his arm.

“We should at least look.”

So on Tuesday afternoon, Daniel drove to the small blue house on Willow Street, the place where he had grown up.

The front steps had been repaired. The old maple tree had been cut down. Someone had painted the porch railing white.

Inside, the house smelled of furniture polish and dried lavender.

He recognized the grandfather clock in the hallway, the framed watercolor above the sofa, and the narrow wooden table where his mother used to place his schoolbooks.

Nothing seemed particularly strange until he entered the spare bedroom.

There were boxes stacked against the wall.

Seventeen boxes.

Each had a year written on its lid.

2009.

2010.

2011.

All the way through 2025.

Daniel opened the first.

Inside was a wrapped birthday present, a Christmas card, and a small envelope containing photographs.

He opened the present.

It was a leather wallet.

A note lay beneath it.

Happy twenty-second birthday, Danny. I remember how proud you were when you got your first proper job. I hope this year brings you something wonderful.

He opened the next box.

A wool scarf.

Another birthday card.

A newspaper clipping about his graduation from business school.

The third contained a watch.

The fourth, a collection of books.

As he worked through the boxes, he began noticing changes.

The handwriting became less steady.

The gifts grew smaller.

In 2021, his mother had bought him a pair of gardening gloves.

Rebecca mentioned in her Christmas letter that you were growing tomatoes. Your grandfather could never keep his alive. I hope you have better luck.

Daniel sat down on the floor.

Rebecca had exchanged Christmas letters with his mother?

He would have to ask her.

Then he opened the final box.

There was no wrapped present.

Only a small knitted sweater, pale yellow, sized for a child.