“Yes?”
“We have a delivery for you. The box is very large and very heavy. We can bring it inside if you’d like.”
I stared at him. “What box?”
I saw a delivery truck parked in the driveway.
He gestured to the truck. Two other men were already pulling something out of the back. It was enormous. The size of a small refrigerator. Wrapped in brown paper.
There was only one label on it: “To My Mom.”
My address. Nothing else.
It took all three men to carry it inside. They set it down in my living room and left.
Two other men were already pulling something out of the back.
I stood there, staring at it. My hands were shaking as I found a box cutter in the kitchen drawer.
I cut through the tape carefully and opened the top flap.
Right on top was a sealed envelope.
I pulled it out. My name was written on the front… in Darla’s handwriting.
My legs nearly gave out. I sat down on the couch and tore open the envelope with trembling fingers.
My name was written on the front… in Darla’s handwriting.
The letter was dated three weeks before she died. The first line made my heart stop.
“Mom, I know you’re probably confused right now. But if this box has been delivered to you, it means I’m no longer alive.”
I couldn’t breathe as I kept reading.
“There are things you never knew about me. I have to tell you the truth. You’ll understand everything once you open the package.”
I set the letter down and looked back at the box. My mind was racing. What could be in there? What truth had Darla kept from me?
“There are things you never knew about me.”
I thought about all the conversations we’d had in the months before she died.
She seemed tired and distracted. I’d chalked it up to work stress. Now I wondered what I’d missed.
Carefully, I pulled back the flaps. Inside were smaller boxes. Dozens of them.
Each box was carefully labeled in Darla’s handwriting: one for Lily’s 10th birthday, one for Ben’s first day of middle school, one for the day Molly learned to ride a bike, and one for Rosie’s fifth birthday.
There were more gifts for every milestone and every special moment until they turned 18.
She seemed tired and distracted.
Darla had planned for everything. She’d known she wouldn’t be there. The thought sent a chill through me—
how had she known, and when?
At the bottom of the box was another envelope.
I opened it with shaking hands. Inside was another letter.
“Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I wanted to protect something. Please visit this address. He’ll explain everything.”
Below it was an address in the city, two hours away.
She’d known she wouldn’t be there.
I looked at the clock. It was 9:30 a.m. I had to be at work at 10.
But I couldn’t go to work. Not now.
I made a decision right then. Whatever Darla had hidden, I needed to know. I owed her that much. And I owed it to her children.
I called my boss and told him it was an emergency. He wasn’t happy, but he agreed. Then I grabbed my keys, locked the house, and got in my car.
Whatever I was about to discover, I’d face it head-on.
Whatever Darla had hidden, I needed to know.
***
The address led me to a small house on the edge of the city. I knocked on the door, my heart pounding.
A man in his late 30s answered.
“Can I help you?”
“My name is Carolyn. I’m Darla’s mother. I received a package this morning. With this address.”
His face changed immediately.
“Carolyn? Yes. Please come in. I’ve been expecting you.”
I followed him inside.
The address led me to a small house.
“I’m William,” he said. “I was your daughter’s doctor.”
“Doctor?”
He gestured to the couch. “Please. Sit down.”
William sat across from me and pulled out a folder. “Your daughter was diagnosed with stage four cancer a year ago.”
Everything inside me went very still. “What?”
“She came to me after she started experiencing symptoms. We ran tests. It was aggressive. She had less than a year.”
I couldn’t speak.
“She started experiencing symptoms.”
“She bought those gifts for her children over the course of several months. She wanted them to have something from her for every important moment in their lives.”
“Why didn’t she tell me?” I whispered.
“She wanted to. But she said you’d already survived too much—losing your husband, raising her alone. She couldn’t make you watch her fade too.”
A tight ache spread through my chest, stealing my breath.
“She asked me to send the package a week before Lily’s birthday. So you’d have time to prepare,” William added.
“She couldn’t make you watch her fade too.”
I looked up at him. “Lily’s birthday is next week.”
“I know. That’s why I sent it to you.”
He then handed me a small box.
“She wanted you to have this.”
I opened it. Inside was a locket. Gold. Delicate. I opened it. Inside was a photo.
The kids hugging me. Taken last summer at the lake. All of us smiling. Darla had been behind the camera.
I broke down completely.
He then handed me a small box.
William sat quietly while I cried.
Finally, I wiped my eyes. “Did her husband know?”
William shook his head. “No. She hadn’t told him. She planned to divorce him when they got back. He didn’t know any of it. And the crash ended everything before she could say a word.”
***
I drove home in a daze, wondering why Darla would want me to have the package instead of her husband, when he was still alive, before the crash.
It didn’t make sense. Unless there was something else. Something she hadn’t told William.
“He didn’t know any of it.”
When I got home, I sat in my car for 10 minutes, gripping the steering wheel.
Then I made another decision. I was going to find out the whole truth. No matter what it took.
I owed Darla that much.
I read the letter again. At the very bottom, in small handwriting, was one more line:
“It’s better for some truths to remain buried. Take care of the kids, Mom.”
What did that mean?
I was going to find out the whole truth.
I dragged the box to my bedroom and locked the door. Then I went to pick up the kids.
That night, I tried to act normal.
I made dinner. Helped with homework. Read bedtime stories.
But my mind was racing.
I kept replaying everything William had said. Everything Darla had written.
Something was missing. Some piece I hadn’t found yet.
I tried to act normal.
After the kids fell asleep, I noticed Molly was clutching her drawing book. She never let anyone touch it. I’d always thought it was just a kid thing.
As I tucked her in, the book slipped from her hands and fell to the floor. A page fell open. I picked it up and froze.
It was a drawing of a family. Four stick-figure children. Two adults labeled “Mommy” and “Daddy.”
And beside Daddy was another stick figure labeled “Mommy 2.”
My pulse thudded painfully in my ears.
I picked it up and froze.
I couldn’t sleep that night.
I sat in my bedroom staring at that drawing.
Who was “Mommy 2”?
The next morning at breakfast, I casually asked Molly about it.
“Sweetheart, who’s Mommy 2 in your picture?”
Molly looked up from her cereal. “That’s the lady who used to come over when Mommy was at work.”
“What lady?”
“The one Daddy would hug.”
Who was “Mommy 2”?
