That was why the package delivered that morning affected me so deeply. Inside was an elegant sapphire-blue velvet box tied with a cream silk ribbon, containing twelve beautifully crafted chocolates decorated with shimmering gold leaf.
A handwritten card was tucked beneath the ribbon.
“To the best mother in the world, with all my love, Thomas.”
I nearly cried reading it. Thomas and I had grown increasingly distant since his marriage to Laura, and affectionate gestures from him had become so rare that the gift immediately awakened hope that perhaps our relationship was finally beginning to heal.
The chocolates looked extraordinarily expensive, but when I lifted one toward my mouth, decades of maternal habit stopped me. I thought immediately of Laura and my grandchildren, Anne and Charles, especially Charles, who adored sweets.
Rather than keep such an extravagant gift for myself, I carefully retied the ribbon and drove to Thomas’s house. Laura answered the door with the same strained politeness she had shown me for months, clearly surprised to see me standing there unexpectedly.
“Thomas sent these for my birthday, but they’re much too fancy for me to eat alone. I thought you and the children might enjoy them.”
