Inside were knitting needles, purple and white yarn, and a half-finished stuffed unicorn wrapped carefully in tissue paper.
Haley stared at it in confusion.
“Craft class,” Sarah explained quickly. “Ms. Bell said handmade gifts meant more because they took time and love. Randy wanted to make this for you.”
“A unicorn?” Haley whispered. “Randy loved dinosaurs.”
Sarah nodded tearfully.
“He said you liked unicorns.”
Months earlier, Haley had casually mentioned liking unicorns while drinking from an old chipped unicorn mug.
Randy remembered.
Beneath the yarn sat a card written in Randy’s uneven handwriting.
Mom, it’s not done yet.
Don’t laugh. Sarah says the horn is the hardest part.
I love you more than cereal breakfast.
Love, Randy.
Haley broke apart reading it.
Then Sarah quietly whispered, “There’s more.”
Inside the backpack was another folded paper.
This one made Haley’s blood run cold.
Dear Mom,
I’m sorry I ruined the Mother’s Day wall.
I promise I’m not bad.
Love, Randy.
