He opened it. And suddenly stopped moving. “Ma’am…” Something in his voice made my stomach twist.
Still holding my daughter against my chest, I slowly walked toward him.
Inside the mailbox was a small white ENVELOPE. There was no stamp. No return address.
Nothing indicating who had left it there. Except for one detail. Written neatly across the front was my newborn daughter’s name.
By hand. My chest tightened. Almost no one knew the name I had finally chosen for her.
The officer stared at the envelope for several seconds before looking back at me.
“I think you should see what’s inside.” My fingers began shaking as I reached for it.
Because suddenly one thing was terrifyingly clear. Whoever had painted my house black had not chosen us randomly.
They knew exactly who lived there. And somehow… They already knew my daughter’s name.
(I know you’re all very curious about the next part, so if you want to read more, please leave a “YES” comment below!)
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