A Stranger Left a Box on My Porch. Inside Was the Truth My Family Hid for Years (2 of 3)

That night, Eric and I opened the box at the kitchen counter. Nestled inside was a pale blue silk scarf, soft as water, and a handwritten note:
“For our special memories. More to come.”

Eric looked completely baffled. “Is this some weird PR stunt?”
I laughed nervously, but the laugh didn’t reach my chest. Something about it felt… wrong. The note wasn’t vague in a random way—it felt pointed. Personal. Designed to unsettle.

The next morning, Eric went on his usual run. But instead of relaxing with coffee like I normally would, I opened his laptop. I know, I know—it’s a breach of trust. But something had lodged in my gut, and it wouldn’t let go.

That’s when I found it. A hotel booking downtown. A boutique place with velvet couches and mood lighting. Eric and I had never stayed there.

So I went.

I checked in under Eric’s name—my palms sweaty, my heart pounding in my throat. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. Maybe some explanation, some misunderstanding I could laugh about later.

But then, from the room next to mine, I heard a voice. Familiar. Deep. Careful.

My dad.

I froze.

I leaned in, straining to hear. He was speaking to a woman in soft tones, using nicknames I’d never heard him use. And then I heard something that knocked the breath out of me.

“Did she get the package?”