Inside were bundles of tied envelopes, several bank receipts, and something carefully wrapped in tissue paper.
My hands were trembling as I unpacked it.
Newborn birth bracelet.
Pink.
The date printed on it almost made my knees buckle.
This was eight years ago, the same month that Daniel and I had separated for three months after one of our worst arguments.
“No,” I murmured. “No…”
I looked at the name.
Ava.
My throat tightened when I picked up the stack of letters.
The first envelope I opened was not written in Daniel’s handwriting.
“Daniel,
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