« What instructions? »
I lifted the white cloth and reached beneath it.
My fingers touched a large box wrapped in red paper.
When I dragged it into my lap, I saw my name written across the top.
It was Frank’s handwriting.
« How did you do this? » I whispered.
It was Frank’s handwriting.
***
Five days earlier, I stood over an open suitcase while my daughter, Mikayla, folded sweaters beside me.
Daniel, my son, blocked the bedroom doorway.