The street was filling with people.

Eli grabbed my hand.

“Mom.”

“Stay here.”

“But—”

“Stay here.”

I walked down the steps.

The grass was still wet from the storm.

The umbrellas moved slightly in the breeze.

It looked beautiful.

And terrifying.

Like some strange memorial no one had told me about.

I reached Box #1.

My hands were shaking.

I knelt down.

The box was dry.

I lifted the lid.

And screamed.

Not because there was money inside.

Not because there was a threat.

Because sitting in the box was my husband's watch.

Ethan's old silver watch.

The one he wore every day.

The one we buried him with.

At least, I thought we'd buried him with it.

I knew that watch.

I had held it in my hand dozens of times.

The tiny scratch near the twelve.

The worn leather strap.

The initials engraved on the back.

E.H.

I touched it.

My knees nearly gave out.

“No.”

Eli crouched beside me.

He stared into the box.

His face went completely white.

“Oh no, Mom…”

He looked at me.

“We need to call the police.”

I didn't argue.

I pulled out my phone.

The Police Arrived in Minutes

Two officers arrived within minutes.

One of them was young.

The other looked to be in his fifties.

They walked across the lawn slowly, taking everything in.

The older officer introduced himself as Detective Harris.

He crouched beside Box #1.

“You're the homeowner?”

“Yes.”

“Did you put these here?”

“No.”

“Did your son?”

“No.”

“Anyone else have access to your property?”

I shook my head.

He looked at the watch.

Then at me.

“Do you know this belongs to?”

I swallowed.

“My husband.”

“Is he deceased?”

“Yes.”

“When?”