A crease formed between my grandfather’s brows. Disappointment—unmistakable and heavy—settled into his expression. Still, he accepted the packages with practiced grace, placing them carefully on the table beside him.
His fingers lingered on the topmost box.
As if waiting for it to explain her absence.
I stepped closer, heart pounding despite myself. “Would you like me to open them for you?” I asked quietly.
“No,” he said at once. “I’ll do it.”
The first package revealed a hand-embroidered tapestry.
The craftsmanship was staggering—months of labor evident in every stitch. I knew how much time it had taken. I’d seen her hands raw and bleeding as she worked late into the night. The design honored longevity, lineage, legacy—everything my grandfather valued.
Sebia lifted it slowly, eyes shining as he traced the threads with unsteady fingers.
The second package followed.
Wrapped in velvet.
Inside lay a set of heirloom jewelry—the pieces that had once belonged to my grandmother. The same set Avery had worn on our wedding day.
My throat closed.
Why would she send these back?
The weight of it pressed down on my chest, heavy and unmistakable. My palms dampened.
Then there was the third box.
It sat there, silent.
Something in my gut twisted violently.
I didn’t wait.
My hand moved before reason could stop it, snatching the box from the courier. Sebia shot me a sharp look—but he didn’t interfere.
I tore away the wrapping.
And froze.
The contents drained the color from my face.
My breath caught, shallow and sharp, as my fingers trembled around the box. The meaning hit all at once—cold, deliberate, devastating.
This wasn’t a gift.
It was a message.
One I couldn’t unsee.
One the entire room would soon understand.
