I woke up to an alert from our home security system:
“Back door opened. 3:04 a.m.”
I checked the footage. I saw a man who looked exactly like my fiancé—same jacket, same figure.
Except… he was asleep. Right next to me. Breathing slow, mouth slightly open like he always does.
I wanted to wake him up, but then suddenly my phone buzzed. I froze as I read:
“Your package has been delivered. —3:05 a.m.”
A second later, another alert popped up from our outdoor camera:
“Motion detected: front porch.”
My heart was pounding so loud I could barely think.
I crept out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway, holding my breath like that might somehow keep me safe. The porch was empty when I opened the door. But sitting right in the center of the doormat was a plain brown box—no label, no tape, just my name written across the top in black Sharpie.
I brought it inside and placed it on the kitchen table. My fingers hovered over the lid. Then I heard it.
My fiancé’s voice—coming from the footage. I ran back to my phone and hit rewind. The man entering through the back door had said something.
It was faint, muffled. I turned the volume all the way up and replayed the clip. “Don’t let her see me.”
I swear my blood turned to ice.
That was his voice. But he was asleep in our bed. I’d just seen him.
I grabbed a knife from the drawer before going back to the bedroom. He was still there. Peaceful.
Still. I leaned down and whispered, “Caspian…”
He stirred slightly. “Mmm?”
I watched his chest rise and fall, felt the warmth coming off him.
I backed away. Quiet. Careful.
I went back to the box, finally opened it. Inside was a stack of old photos and a folded note. The first picture was of Caspian—maybe seventeen?
He was standing next to a woman with the same sea-glass eyes he had. I flipped through them. Same woman.
Same boy. Over and over again. But something about the backgrounds made my stomach twist—nursing homes, hospitals, motels with broken signs.
I opened the note. It read:
“He left us behind. Ask him about Maribel.
He knows why I’m here.”
That name. Maribel. It rang faint bells, like hearing a song you’d forgotten you loved.
I stayed up all night, waiting. Thinking. Pacing.
By sunrise, I had my plan. When Caspian woke up, I handed him the box. Didn’t say a word.
He looked at it like it had slapped him. “What is this?” he asked, already knowing. I pointed to the photos.
“She said you left her behind. That you’d know why.”
His shoulders dropped. For a moment, he looked… ancient.
Older than I’d ever seen him. He sat down slowly. “That’s my mom,” he said.
“Maribel.”
I blinked. “You told me your mom passed when you were a kid.”
“She did. Sort of.” He rubbed his face with both hands.
“She was alive, but she wasn’t… there. She had a breakdown when I was fifteen. Paranoid delusions.
Accused me of spying on her for my dad.”
He went quiet for a while before continuing. “I left. I had to.
She wouldn’t get help. I stayed in shelters, on friends’ couches. Eventually I got a job, saved up, built a life.”
“So… why the box?
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