It had been exactly five years since Sarah buried her husband, Eric. The sharp pain of loss had turned into a dull ache, but the anniversary was always hard. She was sitting in the living room, lost in memories, when the front door slammed open.
Her daughter, Polly, bounced in from school, beaming with joy. A heavy, unfamiliar black backpack was slung over her small shoulders.
“Mommy, look!” the little girl shouted. “Daddy gave this to me!”
Sarah’s face drained of color.
“Honey, what are you saying? Daddy is gone,” she whispered, feeling the room spin.
But Polly stomped her foot, insisting:
“No, he was there! He waited for me after school and gave me this backpack.”
With trembling hands, Sarah unzipped the bag. Inside, there were no books or toys.
It was stuffed with stacks of cash. Thousands upon thousands of dollars.
This wasn’t a prank. This was either madness or the beginning of a nightmare.
