Lights flashing. Neighbors gathering. That sharp, electric feeling that something had gone wrong.
When the sheriff knocked on my door, I already knew.
Mrs. Higgins had passed.
Just like that.
Gone.
I sat there, numb, barely hearing the words—until he said something that didn’t make sense.
“She left something in your mailbox.”
My heart stuttered.
“What?”
We walked outside together. The street felt too loud, too alive for something so final.
