ABIGAIL'S POVThe package didn’t have a return address.That was the first thing I noticed.It sat on the kitchen counter like it has been there for a long while, plain brown paper, no logo, no courier slip. Just my name written in thick black marker, the letters uneven, as though whoever wrote them had pressed too hard.Abigail.I stood across from it for a long moment, my arms wrapped around myself, the house too quiet. “Don’t,” I whispered to myself.But my hands had already moved.Inside the package was a single sheet of paper, folded once. No note. No explanation.Just a drawing.My breath left me in a sharp, broken exhale.It was done in crayon. Bold lines. Messy edges. A child’s certainty in every stroke.A woman stood at the center of the page, her arms raised. Blue and yellow zigzags burst from her hands, stretching outward like lightning.Behind her stood two children. One taller. One smaller. Both drawn close to her back, like they were hiding and standing tall at the same
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