At home, he carried the bags upstairs but did not get another invitation inside.

“I need to rest,” I said at the door.

“Call me.”

“I will if I need to.”

After he left, I put the butter away.

Then I sat down on the kitchen floor and cried, quietly enough that Frank would not hear through the wall.

The next morning, a white envelope appeared in my mailbox.

Frank noticed the corner while passing the boxes downstairs and came up to tell me.