My name is Florence, and at 67, I was preparing to spend my first Christmas without my husband, Walter.

We had shared 46 beautiful years together before he passed away nine months earlier.

I knew Christmas would be difficult, but my son Spencer and his wife Audrey had promised to come for dinner.

For two days, I cooked everything they loved. I prepared a glazed ham, baked Spencer’s favorite pecan pie, and decorated the dining table with candles.

At three o’clock, everything was ready.

At four, I was still watching the driveway.

Then a delivery driver appeared with an envelope.

Inside was a Christmas card from my son.

He and Audrey had decided to spend the holiday with her parents instead.

They hadn’t even bothered to call.

I sat alone beside three untouched plates and cried.

But the following morning, while standing near the old bird feeder Walter had built, I discovered a small envelope.

My name was written on it in my late husband’s handwriting.

Inside were six words:

“My desk. Bottom drawer. Look underneath.”

Continue below in Part 2