Chapter 4 - The Unmarked Envelope
As if on cue, a soft knock sounded on the private partition door of our cabin.
The flight attendant who had paged the captain stepped inside, holding a thick, unmarked manila envelope sealed with a red wax stamp bearing the Department of Defense emblem.
“Colonel Hayes,” the attendant said respectfully, placing the envelope on the table before my mother. “Captain Vance asked me to deliver this to you before we begin our descent. He said it was dropped off at the gate operations desk just fifteen minutes before takeoff by a courier who refused to give a name.”
My mother’s expression shifted instantly. The relaxed, nostalgic warmth vanished from her eyes, replaced by the sharp, calculating focus of an officer evaluating a tactical situation.
She picked up the envelope, her thumb sliding beneath the wax seal to tear it open.
I leaned forward, my anxiety flaring up again. “Mom? What is that?”
She pulled out a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored stationery covered in precise, block-lettered typing. As her eyes scanned the lines, the color slowly drained from her face, leaving her looking paler than she had during her worst days at the clinic.
“Mom?” I repeated, my hand reaching across the table to touch her wrist. “What does it say?”
May you like
She folded the paper slowly, sliding it back into the envelope with hands that suddenly trembled just a fraction.
“It seems,” she whispered, her voice dangerously quiet, “that our vacation isn't just a simple holiday. Someone knew we were getting on this plane. And they’ve been waiting for me to land.”
