The box.
Long.Elegant.Wrapped in expensive paper, a perfect red ribbon still tied with surgical precision.
Creed’s gift.
I had avoided it for weeks, pretending it didn’t exist.Opening something from a man who had walked away felt like reopening a wound I’d finally learned how to bandage without bleeding through.
Tonight, though, the weight of it pressed in from all sides.
I set the mug aside and reached for the ribbon.My fingers hesitated before pulling it loose, like my body already understood the cost.The paper slid away easily.
Inside there weren’t clothes.Or jewelry.Or anything sentimental.
They were documents.
Crisp.Exacting.Professional.
Mortgage Loan: Paid in Full.
My breath caught as I turned the page and recognized the deed to my house.
Paid off.
The room tilted—not with relief, but with something sharper, colder.A sob burned behind my ribs, unwanted and furious.
Damn him.
I shoved the papers into the desk drawer and slammed it shut harder than I meant to.The drawer rattled in protest.
I froze.
When I opened it again, slower this time, everything looked normal.But when my knuckles brushed the base of the drawer, the sound wasn’t right.
Hollow.
My pulse accelerated.
I pressed along the edge until I felt resistance give way.The panel lifted with a faint click.Inside lay an old cell phone.Outdated.Forgotten.And beside it, a folded slip of paper.My fingers were damp as I unfolded it.
A routing number.
An account number.
The air left my lungs in a rush.
No!
Heart hammering, I grabbed the phone and sank into the chair.I didn’t remember standing or climbing the stairs—only tearing through my nightstand until I found an old Android charger.Back in my office, my hands shook as I plugged it in.
“Come on,” I whispered.
The screen flickered to life.
Passcode required.
Ray had been many things.Unpredictable wasn’t one of them.
My birthday.Wrong.
