I signed the courier’s tablet.
He handed me the packet.
“Have a good day.”
I almost laughed at that.
Good days rarely arrived by certified courier.
I shut the door and carried the envelope to the kitchen island.
Our house smelled faintly of sawdust because my husband, Lucas, had spent Sunday building new shelves in the mudroom and still hadn’t vacuumed underneath them properly. His coffee mug sat upside down beside the sink. Through the back windows, late-morning sunlight fell across the hardwood floor in pale rectangles.
It was such a normal scene that the envelope looked almost obscene sitting in the middle of it.
I made myself wait.
That’s what being an accountant teaches you.
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