to his own son.” It was a bit cynical, but it worked. Adrian managed a weak, appreciative laugh, and the heavy cloud seemed to lift, if only slightly.
After that milestone birthday, we stopped investigating. The envelope was no longer a mystery to be solved; it was simply a unique, albeit strange, fixture of his life. It was a comfort to know that someone, somewhere, held Adrian in their thoughts with such unwavering regularity. Even without a name, the kindness of the act spoke for itself.
Then, last week, the
