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Taylor brings the scanner from the SUV.

He checks the outside first.

Nothing.

Then I slowly open the main compartment.

Stacks of envelopes fill the bag.

Some tied together with faded ribbons.

Some loose.

Several marked in different colored ink.

For Sage when she turns ten.

For Sage when she has her first kiss.

For Sage when she needs Mae.

For Sage when she thinks she can’t keep going.

Three hundred and twelve pieces of love carried across two years of fear.

I touch the edge of one envelope.

Near the bottom is a small bundle wrapped in a dish towel.

I lift it out.

The towel falls open.

Photographs.

Sage as a baby.

Sage between Mae and Addy.

Sage holding her first cake.

Sage laughing with flour on her face.

A life I never saw.

Arthur looks over my shoulder.

“Everything there?”

“I don’t know.”

Only Sage will know.

Taylor checks each compartment.

“No tracker.”

I close the backpack and hold it against my chest.