It was a moving box. A single cardboard moving box, taped shut, sitting on his welcome mat. On the side, in Barbara’s neat handwriting, it said: “START PACKING.”
And taped to the top was a letter, on her lawyer’s letterhead, formally giving Eric thirty days to vacate the house — her house — that she had let him live in rent-free for years, and which she was now reclaiming.
That’s what made him scream “Oh my God, who did this?!” — not the box itself, but the letter, and the dawning understanding of what it meant.
