For fifty-five years, I believed I knew everything there was to know about the first boy I ever loved.
His smile.
His laugh.
The way he used to tuck his hands into his jacket pockets when he was nervous.
The way he said my name when he was trying to make me forgive him for being late…. Continue Reading ⬇️
And the last promise he made before he left for war.Education
I thought that was all I had left of Thomas.
Then, on the morning of my seventy-third birthday, someone put a small brown package in my mailbox.
No stamp.
No return address.
Just one word written across the top.
Margaret.
I carried it into the kitchen thinking it might be something from my sister.
Maybe one of my nephews had decided to surprise me early.
Instead, when I untied the string and opened the paper, I found a small jewelry box.
