After several long seconds, he brought the box into the living room, dropping it on the floor in front of his solo recliner. He continued staring at it as if he could open it by telekinesis. As if that would make it hurt less. If he were smart, he would’ve left it with Louisa, paid her a nice sum to go through it, and asked her to track down whoever it was that had left the note behind.

But Louisa wasn’t a detective, and frankly, the less she knew about his personal life the better. He’d been foolish to accept her help in the first place. She had this infectious enthusiasm that he couldn’t help but find amusing—even now, when he wanted nothing to do with her, he found himself wondering when he’d see her again.

He’d also made the mistake of noticing she smelled like vanilla cupcakes, and the scent of her lingered in spite of the distance he’d purposely put between them.

Without thinking, he tore the tape off the box again and stared at it, questions forming at the back of his mind. Or maybe the questions had always been there and he’d simply been too stubborn to admit it.

His father was a hero. He’d died saving Cody. Nothing inside this box would change that.

Cody opened the lid and the twelve-year-old stack of papers and photographs stared back at him. He didn’t have to dig far to find a picture of the two of them, snapped when Cody was around ten years old. His dad had taken him fishing—their first ever guys-only camping trip. Cody was proudly holding a largemouth bass that was nearly as big as he was. He remembered that moment. He remembered pulling the fish from the lake, something he never could’ve done without his dad’s help.

He studied the faces in the photo and noticed his father’s grin was wider than his own. Perhaps he was even prouder of their catch than Cody had been. A pang of sadness rose up within him, and he said a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn’t gone through the box in front of Louisa.

He could feel her wanting to fix things. He could feel her trying too hard. The last thing he needed was for her to feel validated in her obvious concern for him. He was fine. He’d be fine. He just had a lot to process.

He started scanning through the pages—mostly work papers, mostly unhelpful, and he tried not to let his mind wander back to that night.

He’d wished he could undo it so many times. If only he’d listened.