Carla picked up an apple from the counter.
“I suggest you start packing,” she said.
I spent most of that afternoon in my room putting my life into boxes.
Every few minutes, I stopped and just stared at the walls.
I didn’t know where to go. My aunt lived in another state.
The house felt different that evening.
Not just quiet. Tense.
Carla kept walking through rooms, making phone calls.
Later that evening, I stepped into the hallway to get a glass of water.
When I passed the bathroom, a memory hit me.
After my mom died, mornings became the hardest part of the day. I’d wake up feeling the void she left and cry.
Dad wanted to help, so he started a weird little ritual to make mornings less lonely for both of us.
Every morning before leaving for work, he taped a tiny surprise under the bathroom sink.
Sometimes it was candy bars, coins, silly notes, and more, so when I brushed my teeth, I’d find them.
He told me it was our secret and kept doing it for years.
Even when I was older.
The morning he died, I never checked.
Maybe it was stupid, but before leaving the house forever, I wanted to look, just in case.
I went inside, knelt, and opened the bathroom cabinet.
I turned on my phone’s flashlight.
At first, I didn’t see anything.
Then the light caught something behind the dusty pipes.
It was a tiny object taped to the back wall.
I reached behind the pipe and pulled it free.
It was a button and a folded piece of paper.
My name was written on it in Dad’s handwriting.
My hands started shaking.
I unfolded it.
Inside it said, “Find the jacket this button came from in my closet. Open the lining.
My last gift to you. Carla will be shocked.”
My heart started pounding so hard.
What did that mean?
Before I could think about it longer, a voice cut through from behind.
“What are you doing under there?”
I jumped and spun around, keeping the note and button hidden in my palm.
Carla stood in the doorway with her arms crossed.
I slipped the note and the button into my pocket.
“I was cleaning,” I said quickly.
“There was a leak earlier.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Carla stared at me for several seconds.
Then she sighed.
“I don’t have time for this. I’m going to visit a friend,” she said. “I’ll be back later.”
She grabbed her purse from the hallway table.
“Okay.”
She paused at the door and shouted.
“Make sure you’re packed when I get back.”
Then she left.
