Chapter 4 - The String and the Knot
It took several minutes for Mrs. Rose to gather the strength to untie the sack. Her fingers were stiff from the freezing rain, numb and unresponsive as she fumbled with the rough twine knot holding the top together. The cord was wet and tight, resisting her weak pulls.
"Why... why couldn't you just look at me, Marcus?" she whispered to the empty room, her throat raw from crying.
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With a final, desperate tug, the twine loosened and fell away. She folded back the stiff edges of the dark burlap, expecting to see the pale, dusty grains of cheap rice they used to buy in bulk from the local mill. But as her eyes adjusted to the dim, high-contrast light filtering through the rain-streaked glass, her breath caught abruptly in her chest.
Directly on top of the coarse sack lining lay a crisp, clean white envelope. It was entirely untouched by the rain that had soaked the outside of the bag, pristine and stark against the dark jute fabric. Printed across the center in dark ink, written in a bold, familiar hand, were two words: Mrs. Rose.
