An old note.
Something harmless.
But deep down, I already knew that was a lie I was telling myself just to keep from falling apart right there in the driveway.
I went back inside and placed both notes on the kitchen counter.
The one from the egg.
The one from the glove compartment.
Someone had hidden one message where my child would find it…
…and another where I would only discover it after reading the first.
That wasn’t random.
That was deliberate.
Targeted.
I studied the handwriting.
