But when I opened the door, there was no one standing there. It was just a box — small, brown, and without a return address.
I glanced around, confused, then carried it into the kitchen and set it down beside the cutting board.
Cole turned mid-step, still holding the pumpkin pie.
For a moment, he just stared. Then his face changed, only slightly, but I saw it.
A flicker of panic on my husband’s face.
Cole’s fingers tightened around the aluminium pie tin, surely damaging the edge.
“What is it?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but his voice pitched a little too high. “Honestly, it’s probably some kid just pranking us.”
I ignored him and opened the lid.
Inside was a roasted turkey — it was perfectly golden and still warm.
“What the heck?” I asked, taking the bird out.
Nestled beside it was a pregnancy test — unmistakably positive — and a small black USB flash drive.
My fingers hesitated.
On top was a folded note in tidy, looping cursive.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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