Eleven Years of Eating Lunch by a Window in Columbus, Ohio, Ended With a Box I Never Expected

Liam wrote for a full minute, his pen scratching.

“He didn’t leave you this money to hurt them, Charlotte.

He left it so nobody could ever make you feel small again.”

I set the certificate back and lined up the corners of the little stack, the way he used to line up the corners of everything.

At twenty past five the third-floor break room was empty.

Fluorescent light, the vending machine humming, the window table with its two chairs pushed in.

I sat in my chair and opened the notebook to the last page with writing on it.