I picked up the box.
It felt light, though something shifted inside when I moved it.
Watson stepped into the hallway and read the message.
“Maybe one of the boys ordered something.”
“No,” I said. “I’m taking it to our room. I don’t want them opening some cruel joke in front of everyone.”
His expression changed immediately.
He understood what those words had done to me.
I carried the box into our bedroom, closed the door, and sat on the edge of the bed.
For nearly a minute, I simply stared at it.
Then I lifted the lid.
A folded note lay on top.
“Dawn,
Please don’t show this to anyone until you finish reading.
Don’t trust Grandma.”
I stopped breathing.
Beneath the letter was a hospital bracelet.
Tiny.
Faded.
Yellowed around the edges.
The printed name on it was Rowan.
Behind the bracelet was a photograph of a young man standing near a lake.
He had Riley’s mouth.
Rex’s height.
Watson’s jaw.
And my eyes.
A sound escaped me that I had never heard myself make before.
Watson knocked.
“Dawn?”
I couldn’t answer.
“Dawn, open the door.”
My fingers shook as I unlocked it.
He walked inside and immediately saw the open box on the bed.
I raised the bracelet.
“It says Rowan.”
Watson’s face drained of color.
His gaze moved to the photograph before he dropped heavily onto the bed beside me.
“No.”
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