When my father passed away, all he left me was a small, locked toolbox. It was old, blue, and rusty — the kind of thing you’d expect to find buried in the back of a garage. Still, I kept it by my front door, unsure why he’d chosen that particular object to leave me
A few days later, my stepmother, April, showed up unannounced. She’d been part of my life since I was ten, always polished and polite, but there was something about her that never felt quite right. She gave me her usual sugary smile as her eyes immediately landed on the box.

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