I walked around the coffee table and spotted a small white envelope tucked among the green stems.

A plastic card fork held it in place.

My hands were perfectly steady as I pulled it out of the dirt.

I stared at my mother’s slanted, forceful handwriting on the front of the envelope.

I slid out the heavy card and read the one sentence written inside.

“We love you both and we want our family back.”

I dropped the card on the wooden table beside the vase.

Barbara hadn’t called me one time since the security guard walked her to the hospital elevators.