Inside was my mother’s old blue scarf, a photograph of her laughing on a porch, and a stack of report cards I’d assumed had been thrown away.

“I found these when I cleaned out the hallway closet,” he said.

“I thought you might want them.”

I lifted the scarf.

It smelled faintly of cedar.

“Why didn’t you give them to me before?”

He looked down.

“I couldn’t bear sorting through her things.