I Packed My Son’s Lunch Every Morning – It Led the Police Straight to My Door

I held the card in my hands and sat at the kitchen table, breathing it all in. Not just the contents of the box, but the feeling that came with it — the quiet kind of grace that shows up when you’ve been holding things together with a string of stubbornness.

Andrew wandered in after school, eyeing the open package.

“Did someone send it because of Haley?”

“Because of you,” I said.

“They sent it because of who you are.”

He reached into the box and pulled out a granola bar — the same brand I used to buy on sale.

“I’ll bring her one tomorrow,” he said casually.

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