At seventy-four, I thought I was just paying to fix my leaky roof. I never imagined what the workers would discover — or how it would change my life.I’m Evelyn, a widow for nearly ten years.
My husband, Richard, passed away unexpectedly, leaving me alone in our old house. With no children or close relatives, my days were filled with gardening, baking, and volunteering at the library, but the nights were quiet — too quiet.
After many sleepless nights listening to the roof creak and drip, I finally saved enough to hire a small crew to repair it. The men seemed rough around the edges, but one of them, Joseph, stood out — polite, respectful, and kind.
A few days into the job, I noticed them hiding something they’d found in the attic: an old wooden box. I recognized it instantly. Richard had shown it to me years ago, telling me it was mine to open only “when the time felt right.”