The package arrived on a Tuesday afternoon.
There was no return address, just my name written in handwriting I recognized immediately.
My husband, Owen’s.
He had died three years earlier.
At first I assumed someone was playing a cruel joke, but the shipping label showed it had been mailed only two days before.
Inside the box was a single brass key and a folded note.
It read, « If you’re reading this, then it’s finally time to use this key. Go alone. Don’t tell anyone. These coordinates will take you where you need to be. »
Below the message was a set of GPS coordinates.
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