My Stepdaughter Returned Every Birthday Gift I Sent for 12 Years – In the 13th Year, I Stopped, and a Huge Box from Her Arrived at My Door, and I Went Pale When I Opened It
“Maybe Dad will finally tell you why I left. It was never about you, Alice. Look inside and you’ll understand.”
Beside me, David became completely still.
“David,” I said slowly. “What does she mean?”
“She’s angry.”
“At what?”
“You know how Chloe is.”
I stared at him.
“No. I don’t know how she is. That’s the whole problem.”
Then he said something that made my stomach twist.
“Don’t open the box.”
I looked at his face.
All the color had drained from it.
“I’m opening it.”
He said nothing.
“You can help me or leave.”
Eventually, he helped.
I lifted the top flap.
Inside were twelve wrapped presents.
Each one had my name written on it in Chloe’s handwriting.
Underneath them were cards.
Twelve birthday cards.
One for every birthday I had celebrated during the years we had supposedly hated each other.
Every card was addressed simply to:
Alice.
I opened the first one.
Chloe thanked me for the lasagna I used to make on Sundays.
She mentioned the hug I gave her at the wedding.
She wrote:
“I hope you’re okay.”
I opened another.
She had written it when she was twenty-two.
She apologized for being distant when she first went away to college.
Then she asked whether maybe the two of us could talk.
I had never received it.
None of them.
Every single card had been returned.
At the bottom of the box was a bundle of letters secured with a rubber band.
College addresses.
Denver.
Portland.
Different years.
Different homes.
All written to me.
All stamped:
RETURN TO SENDER.
Then I noticed something.
