The Mysterious Package

 It was a rainy Tuesday morning when Emma found a small brown box sitting on her doorstep. There was no name, no return address—just her apartment number written in black ink. She looked around, but the street was empty. Curious and a little nervous, she took the box inside.

On her kitchen table, she opened it slowly. Inside was an old silver key and a note that said only: “You’ll know where it belongs.” Emma frowned. She didn’t recognize the handwriting. Was it a prank? A mistake?

That night, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. The key felt heavy in her pocket, as if it wanted her to find something. The next morning, on her way to work, she noticed an old, locked mailbox in front of an abandoned bookstore. For some reason, her heart told her to try the key.

It fit perfectly. The lock clicked open. Inside was a dusty envelope with her name on it. Hands shaking, she opened it and found a photograph—of her as a baby, being held by a woman she didn’t recognize. On the back, it said: “I always loved you. —Mom.”

Emma froze. Her mother had died when she was two. Who had sent this? And how did they know?

As she stood there in the morning light, she realized something deep—sometimes, life gives us small mysteries not to confuse us, but to remind us that love can find its way, even through time.