Morning brought clarity and more questions than answers. Elias woke unusually early, standing by the front door as if he’d known something had been left. A small cardboard box sat neatly on the welcome mat, untouched and precisely placed.
“Grandpa?” he whispered.
“What is it?”
“There’s something here.”
Inside were three things. First, the hat—the same one he had returned. Clean, folded carefully, as if handled by someone who had spent decades respecting objects like this. Second, a small metal badge, worn, official-looking but from a service I didn’t recognize immediately. The engraving carried a name I hadn’t heard in decades, someone from my past—someone I had hoped never to see again. The third item was a simple folded note, rough handwriting, no envelope, just words that made my chest tighten: “He shouldn’t have run into the road.”
