“For our little miracle, with the love of mom and dad.”
The last time I had seen that music box had been three years ago, the day Mike left our home.
Emily took it and slowly turned the key. A soft melody and family He filled the room.
“Is this mine?” he asked.
I couldn’t answer.
My hands were shaking while I opened the card.
“Sarah:
I know I have no right to write to you. I also know that no word could justify what I did.
But I was the one who arranged this whole trip.
Your father only agreed to help me because he knew you would refuse the money if you knew the truth.
Everything was darkened before my eyes.
I remembered the day the doctor first pronounced the word “cancer.”
Mike had been with us in the hospital that day. I was sitting next to me, but when the doctor started talking about prolonged treatment, possible complications and huge medical expenses, Mike’s expression changed.
