“Mom,” she said, “go check your front porch.”
Puzzled, I shuffled to the door. There, sitting neatly by the welcome mat, was a carefully wrapped package with my grandson’s handwriting on it. A small note was taped to the top: For Grandma.
My hands shook as I peeled away the tape and lifted the lid, my heart beating faster than it had in years. Inside was the same photo album I had given him—but it wasn’t the same anymore.
