Evelyn stopped.
My father was crying.
Brent looked furious, not sorry.
My mother stared at the tin box.
Inside were two small wrapped presents.
The paper was old, faded at the corners, tied with ribbons that had yellowed slightly with time. One tag said Emma. The other said Noah.
My mother had kept them for six years.
Six years.
Six birthdays. Six Christmases. Six chances to do the smallest decent thing.
And she had hidden them in a box.
Evelyn placed the gifts back inside and closed the lid.
“I will deliver these to Julia myself.”
My mother’s voice came out thin. “They were too young to appreciate them.”
“No,” Evelyn said. “You were too bitter to give them.”
Brent slammed his mug onto the hall table so hard coffee splashed onto the documents.
“Enough. Get out.”
Evelyn did not move.
“Careful, Brent. You are named in three separate financial irregularities involving attempted liens against this property.”
