Kathleen stared at the mail carrier in a state of suspended animation. The winter air nipped at her skin, but she hardly felt it as she scribbled her signature on the proof of delivery. She clutched the three envelopes to her chest as if they were made of fragile glass, retreating into the warmth of her home.
The weight of the paper alone told a story of wealth and prestige. There were three in total: two medium-sized, heavy ivory envelopes and one smaller, more delicate one with her son's name, Kelvin, etched in elegant, looped calligraphy.
"What's that, Kathleen?" Harry asked. He had been in the living room, but the sight of his wife standing frozen in the foyer, gawking at the mail, drew him toward her. "What is it?" he repeated, arching his neck with a curious frown, trying to catch a glimpse of the return address.
