For two days after Elora's visit, I tried to return to my normal routine.
I went to work.
I bought groceries.
I cleaned the spare bedroom and put the extra blankets away.
The shoebox remained in the living room.
I couldn't bring myself to put it somewhere else.
Every time I walked past the coffee table, I remembered the things I had discovered.
The notebook.
The photographs.
The key.
And the letters that had made me question a relationship I had once considered uncomplicated.
I had agreed to let Elora visit again.
But I had also made my position clear.
I would not become involved in arguments between her and her children.
I thought that was a reasonable arrangement.
Apparently, it was easier to say than to maintain.
On Thursday morning, my phone rang.
I was getting ready for work.
The number wasn't saved.
I answered.
"Hello?"
A man's voice greeted me.
It took only a few seconds to recognize him.
Shane.
I hadn't heard his voice directly in months.
For a moment, I stood beside the kitchen counter without moving.
"Hello?"
He sounded impatient.
"It's me."
I looked at the phone.
"I know."
There was a pause.
Then he asked how I was doing.
I gave him a polite answer.
"Fine. What do you need?"
He seemed surprised by my directness.
"I was hoping we could talk."
"About what?"
"Mom."
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
I had spent five years avoiding conversations about him.
Now he was calling because of Elora.
I reminded him that I didn't want to discuss our marriage or anything connected to it.
He said he understood.
Then he continued talking about his mother.
Apparently, Elora had told him she had been staying with me.
He wanted to know whether she had left anything behind.
I looked toward the living room.
The shoebox was still on the table.
"Why are you asking?"
He gave a short laugh.
"She's been acting strangely."
I didn't answer.
He said she had recently become difficult to reach.
He also mentioned that she wasn't answering certain questions.
I asked what questions.
He hesitated.
"Family matters."
I almost laughed.
"Then you should discuss them with your family."
"That's what I'm trying to do."
I remained quiet.
Then he asked whether I had seen any documents belonging to his mother.
My hand tightened around the phone.
"What kind of documents?"
"Just some personal papers."
I thought about the storage cabinet.
The folders.
The envelopes.
The photograph.
I chose my words carefully.
"You should ask Elora."
"I have."
"And?"
"She won't tell me anything."
I leaned against the counter.
"Perhaps she has a reason."
His voice changed.
"Why are you taking her side?"
I stared at the wall.
I couldn't believe he was asking me that.
I reminded him that I wasn't taking anyone's side.
I was simply refusing to involve myself.
He sighed.
Then he said something that made me uncomfortable.
"She was living with you for four weeks. You must have noticed something."
I looked toward the spare bedroom.
"She was recovering from a broken leg."
"I know that."
"Then what are you asking?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he asked whether I had seen a small box.
I felt my stomach tighten.
"What box?"
"An old box. Mom sometimes keeps important things in it."
I looked at the shoebox.
It was right there.
I could have told him.
But I didn't.
"I haven't seen anything that belongs to you."
He was quiet.
Then he said he would call again.
I ended the conversation.
For several seconds, I stood in the kitchen holding my phone.
I had expected Shane to contact me someday.
But I hadn't expected him to ask about Elora's belongings.
Or to sound so interested in what she had kept.
I went to the living room.
I moved the shoebox from the coffee table to a locked cabinet.
I wasn't trying to hide anything from Shane.
I simply didn't want someone arriving at my house and taking something without permission.
That afternoon, I called Elora.
I told her Shane had contacted me.
She went silent.
"What did he want?"
"He asked about documents and a box."
I heard her breathing change.
"Did you tell him anything?"
"No."
She thanked me.
Then I asked whether she had expected him to call.
She admitted she had.
"Why didn't you warn me?"
"I didn't think he would contact you directly."
I was frustrated.
"Elora, you know I don't want to be involved with Shane."
"I know, sweetheart."
"Then please don't put me in that position again."
She apologized.
I asked whether he had contacted her.
She said he had called several times.
He wanted to discuss the documents.
He also wanted to know where she had been keeping them.
I asked whether she had answered.
"No."
I understood why.
But I also wondered whether silence was making the situation worse.
I told her she needed to handle the matter properly.
She agreed.
Then she asked whether I still had the key.
I said I did.
"Please keep it somewhere safe."
"I have."
She thanked me again.
After the call, I went to the spare bedroom.
I opened the bottom drawer.
The small cloth bag was still there.
I had put it back after visiting the storage facility.
I picked it up and examined the empty space beneath it.
There was nothing else.
I closed the drawer.
That evening, Patricia came over.
She noticed the shoebox was no longer on the coffee table.
"Did you put it away?"
"Yes."
She looked at me.
"Has something happened?"
I told her about Shane's phone call.
Her expression changed.
"Did he ask about the box?"
I nodded.
Patricia sat down.
"Then he may know more than Elora thinks."
I asked what she meant.
She explained that Elora had told her Shane had been asking about her personal papers for quite some time.
But she hadn't expected him to contact me.
I told Patricia I didn't want to become a messenger between them.
She agreed.
Then she mentioned something I hadn't considered.
"What if Shane thinks you have the documents?"
I looked at her.
"I don't have them."
"You have the key."
I felt a chill.
She was right.
Although the documents were in the storage unit, I had the key.
And Shane had already asked about a box.
I decided to call Elora again.
This time, I asked her to contact her lawyer.
She said she would.
I also told her that if Shane contacted me again, I would direct him to speak with her.
She understood.
Before leaving, Patricia looked at me.
"You've done enough."
I nodded.
But I wasn't sure I believed that.
I had opened my home.
I had cared for Elora.
I had protected the shoebox.
And now I was receiving calls from the son I had spent years trying to leave behind.
I wanted my quiet life back.
I wanted the spare bedroom to be just a spare bedroom.
I wanted the key to be nothing more than a piece of metal.
But that night, while putting away the dishes, my phone lit up again.
It was a message from an unknown number.
There was no greeting.
Only one sentence.
I know Mom left something with you, and I need it back.
I read it twice.
Then I put the phone down.
For the first time, I realized Shane might not be asking questions simply because he was worried about his mother.
He might believe I was holding something he wanted.
And I had no intention of handing anything over without knowing exactly what it was.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: I Refused to Hand Shane Anything That Belonged to His Mother, but His Next Visit Made Me Understand How Deep the Family Disagreement Had Become
I Thought I Was Simply Helping a Woman Who Had Never Stopped Treating Me Like Family, But Something About Her Request Stayed With Me
Part 13 of 20
