“These are from Ms. Avery,” he said. “She sends her birthday wishes.”
Sebia blinked, genuine confusion crossing his face. “Why didn’t she come herself?” he asked. “Where is she?”
The courier shook his head. “I was only assigned delivery, sir.”
A crease formed between my grandfather’s brows. Disappointment—unmistakable and heavy—settled into his expression. Still, he accepted the packages with practiced grace, placing them carefully on the table beside him.
His fingers lingered on the topmost box.
As if waiting for it to explain her absence.
I stepped closer, heart pounding despite myself. “Would you like me to open them for you?” I asked quietly.
“No,” he said at once. “I’ll do it.”
The first package revealed a hand-embroidered tapestry.
The craftsmanship was staggering—months of labor evident in every stitch. I knew how much time it had taken. I’d seen her hands raw and bleeding as she worked late into the night. The design honored longevity, lineage, legacy—everything my grandfather valued.
Sebia lifted it slowly, eyes shining as he traced the threads with unsteady fingers.
The second package followed.
Wrapped in velvet.