It came with the morning paper.
A small, padded envelope tucked between the local classifieds and a circular for hardware tools. No return address. No name. Just our address, typed neatly on the front in all-caps font, spaced perfectly as if it had been printed with care.
Chris found it first.
I was still in the kitchen, making toast and checking the grocery list we didn't actually need, just something to make the day feel normal. He stood in the doorway, envelope in one hand, newspaper in the other.
"You order anything?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.
We wouldn't risk ordering anything here.
I shook my head. "No. Maybe it's from Anne?"
"Or a missdelivery."
I guess we both wanted to hope it wasn't what we were afraid it was.
He set the paper down. We both stared at the envelope for a beat too long. It looked too clean. Too… considered.
Chris opened it slowly, cautiously, pulling the tab like it might release something worse than air.
