After Lawrence died, I returned to his house because one question refused to leave my mind. Why had he spent so much time warning me about the basement freezer? He had always been private, especially after Daisy died, but during his final months he had repeatedly told me to “look beneath the labels” if anything happened. I had assumed it was confusion caused by his declining health. That afternoon, however, curiosity finally overcame me. I opened the freezer and moved aside the neatly labeled packages. Beneath them sat a small metal box.

Inside were journals, photographs, financial records, and carefully folded letters. Nothing looked like a fortune. There were no stacks of cash or secret property deeds. Instead, I found pages describing Lawrence’s failing health, his regrets about losing contact with his son Peter, and his determination to preserve memories before misunderstandings destroyed them. I turned another page and froze. Lawrence had written about me. Not casually, but in detail, remembering things I had completely forgotten.