“Well, I’ll be…” he muttered. “Haven’t seen him in years. Jimmy, he called himself. Quiet, hardworking. Didn’t cause trouble. Are you family?”
“I’m his wife,” I said.
The man straightened, then returned with a small key.
“Jimmy told me you might come one day. Said if you did, I should give you this. It’s for a storage locker in town.”
The Locker
I drove to the storage facility, found Locker 17, and unlocked it.
Inside was everything—neatly organized, waiting.
Boxes lined the walls. The first thing I saw were wrapped gifts, each labeled for Gabriel’s birthdays from age one to ten.
Carl hadn’t missed a single year.
Tears blurred my vision as I discovered letters tied together with string, all addressed to me. He had written to me for years but never sent them.
