I took the letter into the quiet kitchen with trembling hands, expecting a selfish request, but Evelyn’s written explanation completely stunned me. She revealed that she was in the final stages of terminal pancreatic cancer with only weeks left to live, and she explained that the boxes were not gifts, but receipts. Following her instructions, I retrieved a fourth smaller box from the courier’s van, which contained an old bank passbook opened in late 2005, just one month after she walked out on us. Inside were two hundred and fifty-two monthly deposit receipts totaling just over two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. When my daughters walked into the kitchen and saw the final balance, Abigail laughed bitterly while Chloe firmly stated that Evelyn had paid for nothing, reminding me that I was the one who worked grueling night shifts to pay for diapers, formula, braces, and prom dresses. Evelyn’s letter stated that the girls could keep every dollar regardless of how they felt, provided they opened their three boxes together with me present. Reluctantly agreeing to see it through, Chloe found an index card with a downtown Columbus bank address, Abigail found twenty-one unmailed birthday letters alongside a safe-deposit box number, and Harper found a small brass key.
