Check the bottom drawer.
“Who are you?”
I waited until the house was empty that night before going back. I didn’t turn on the lights when I walked through the front door. The dark felt gentler somehow…
The garage door creaked open. The air inside was still, thick with oil and cedar from the workbench cabinets Michael had built years ago. My shoes echoed off the concrete as I walked toward it, every step landing with more weight than the last.
The bottom drawer was deeper than the others, built differently.
It stuck at first, then gave with a soft groan.
I waited until the house was empty that night.
Inside was a sealed envelope, my name printed across it in Michael’s familiar blocky handwriting.
