My wife left me with our six daughters for a wealthy man. Fifteen years later she texted to say she’d be at our oldest daughter’s wedding — and my daughter told me to let her come, because she had already prepared a special welcome for her.
Sabina was still smiling when she took the lid off.
I watched my ex-wife’s face come apart in about two seconds. She went the color of the tablecloth.
And she screamed — actually screamed, in a barn, at a wedding — “Oh my God. No. Take it away. How dare you.”
PART 2 — TWO HUNDRED AND ELEVEN
To explain the box I have to explain something I did for fifteen years and never told anybody, including my daughters.
It started about four months after she left.
Junia was nine and Willa was seven and they wrote letters. That was Dot’s idea, and it was a good one — she said write to her, tell her about school, and we’ll send them, and it will help.
I had an address. Roland Frayne’s house out on the ridge road in Bristow Vale; everybody in Cattermole County knew where that house was.
