Michael’s mocking
Underneath the chest was a stack of boxes labeled in my father’s handwriting. They were cryptic labels, things like “Memories,” “Beginnings,” and “Arthur’s.” My siblings snorted when they saw that last one. “A box just for you, huh? Probably filled with old socks,” Michael joked, but I felt a tremor of excitement. I knew that my father had left this for me to find.
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