Then came roots and packed clay.
I dug for almost 15 minutes before the blade struck something solid.
A dull thud.
Not stone.
Wood.
My heart began to race.
I cleared away more dirt until the corner of a weathered cedar chest appeared beneath the soil.
It wasn’t large.
About the size of a suitcase.
Together, Noah and I lifted it onto the grass.
The brass lock was old, but the wood had been wrapped in waterproof material before it was buried.
I reached into my pocket and removed Ethan’s key.
It slid into the lock perfectly.
For a moment, I couldn’t bring myself to turn it.
Noah looked up at me.
“I think Dad wanted us to do it together.”
I nodded.
Then I turned the key.
The lock clicked.
Inside, carefully packed in layers, were photographs, envelopes, a small video camera, and several neatly wrapped boxes.
Resting on top was a letter.
It simply read. “For Emma and Noah.”
My throat tightened.
