cards, and it is not uncommon for a busy aunt or a forgetful grandparent to omit a signature or for mail to arrive with a smudged postmark. However, as the years marched on, the consistency of these deliveries became impossible to ignore. The envelope was always the same: nondescript, unsigned, and devoid of any return address.
The contents were never extravagant or designed to impress. Inside, Adrian would find a standard birthday card—the kind one might pick up in a hurry at a local pharmacy or grocery store. They bore
