The morning after my little sister spent every coin she had on a birthday cake for a boy at the hospital, I opened our front door and found our lawn covered in balloons.
Dozens were tied to bricks and planted across the wet grass.
In the exact center stood one enormous black balloon. Under it sat a red box.
Della, my little sister, gripped the back of my shirt. “Syd, who is that from?”
Under it sat a red box.
I couldn’t answer. My stomach had already dropped.
A note was taped to the lid.