I opened the envelope marked for a bad day first, because that was the kind of day it was. Inside was a single page. “Ruthie, if you are reading this, you are probably sitting on the garage floor. Get up. Go to the kitchen and put the kettle on. Then call Carla. She will know what to say, because she is just like you.” I laughed out loud, and then I wept.

I read the note taped to the brass key last. “This opens the cabin on Pine Lake,” it said. “I bought it six years ago with my own savings and told you the money went to the roof. I wanted to give you somewhere that was only ours. The address is on the back. Please go.” My daughter stood in the doorway, holding her phone.