I checked the label.
“Age 8.”
His birthday was only three weeks away.
“I think your dad would want you to wait.”
He nodded immediately.
“Okay.”
There was one unmarked envelope left.
My name was written across the front.
I opened it with trembling hands.
“Emma,”
“You’re going to wonder why I buried this instead of leaving it in the attic.”
“Because life gets busy.”
“Boxes get moved.”
“Things get forgotten.”
“But people remember adventures.”
“I wanted Noah’s first memory of me after I was gone to be one more day with his mom, following clues together.”
A sob escaped before I could stop it.
Noah slipped his hand into mine.
I squeezed it.
“There are more things,” he whispered.
He was right.
Beneath the letters were photographs, keepsakes, and pieces of Ethan’s life I’d never seen.
Every one carried a handwritten note explaining why it mattered.
He wasn’t leaving us possessions.
He was leaving us memories.
At the bottom of the chest rested the small video camera.
A memory card was taped to its side.
Noah looked at me.
“Should we listen?”
I nodded.
