For weeks, Bennett had been obsessed with videos of people buying abandoned packages and discovering unexpected treasures. I expected our box to contain nothing but junk, and for the first hour I was right. We found ridiculous phone cases, avocado socks, a karaoke microphone, and a mug proclaiming WORLD’S BEST GRANDPA. We laughed until I reached the very bottom and found one small package that looked much older than everything else.

The cardboard was faded, the tape yellowed, and several shipping labels had been stuck over one another. Then I turned it around and stopped breathing. Printed across the front was Bennett’s full name and the address of the tiny apartment where we had lived during our first year of marriage. When Bennett saw it, his face went white. He rushed toward me and begged me not to open it. That was when I realized whatever was inside had been waiting fifteen years to find him.