During the divorce, the husband declared, «Return everything I ever gave you and the kids!» A week laterthere were boxes onhis doorstep. When he opened them he was astounded…

I was wrong, he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Annabelle’s eyes narrowed, her voice rising. What did you just say? But Leon didn’t answer.

He turned back to the box, his hands moving gently now, reverently, as he gathered the photos and drawings, tucking them back into their ribbons. He stood, the box cradled in his arms and brushed past her without a word, heading into the apartment. Annabelle’s shouts followed him.

Don’t you dare walk away from me! But they felt distant, insignificant. Leon stood in the dim glow of the living room, the open box from Valerie at his feet, its contents spilling across the coffee table, like a map of a life he’d abandoned. His hands trembled as he reached for the large folder at the bottom, its weight heavy with significance.

He opened it, expecting more photos or drawings, but instead found hundreds of receipts, meticulously organised in plastic sleeves. Each one was for the children, clothing, shoes, toys, books, tuition for educational programmes. Valerie’s neat handwriting labelled them.

Steve’s winter coat, 2021, $85. Rose’s new boots, 2022, $60. Steve’s science camp, 2023, $450.

Rose’s ballet classes, 2024, $320. Leon’s breath grew shallow as he flipped through the folder, his fingers brushing the faded ink. He grabbed a calculator from a nearby drawer, his movements frantic, and began tallying the amounts.

Within minutes, the numbers painted a stark truth. The total Valerie had spent on Steve and Rose in recent years dwarfed the value of every gift he’d demanded back. The jewellery, the telescope, the music box, all of it.

Thousands upon thousands of dollars poured into their wellbeing, their growth, their happiness, while he’d been fixated on reclaiming trinkets to appease Annabelle’s greed. Then he saw it, a small piece of paper clipped to the final receipt, its edges crisp, as if Valerie had placed it there with deliberate care. Her handwriting, steady and elegant, filled the page with just a few lines, but they struck him like a blade.

I returned everything you wanted back, all the photos, drawings, cards, notebooks, receipts, jewellery and gadgets, all the material values. But the things you never gave, love, care, support, attention, I kept for myself and the kids. That’s something you can never take from us.

The paper slipped from his hands, fluttering to the floor. Leon’s knees buckled and he sank onto the couch, the world around him crumbling. The weight of Valerie’s words pressed into him, each one a mirror reflecting his failures.

He hadn’t just lost money or possessions, he’d lost a family, a love that had been real and enduring, a version of himself he barely recognised anymore. The photos of seaside vacations, the drawings proclaiming the cards filled with his own promises of forever, they were relics of a life he’d traded for Annabelle’s fleeting allure, for a hollow existence that now mocked him. Annabelle’s voice sliced through the silence, sharp with disdain.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her eyes flicking over the scattered contents of the box. So what are you going to do with all this junk now? she asked, her tone dripping with impatience. Throw it away or sit here crying over old photos like a loser.

Leon didn’t respond. He stared at the box, at the folder of receipts, at Valerie’s note lying on the floor. Her words echoed in his mind.

Love, care, support, attention. He’d given so little of those, convinced himself that child support payments and occasional gifts were enough. But Valerie had been the one there, day after day, stitching their family together while he chased a mirage.

And now, surrounded by the tangible remnants of his past, he saw the truth. He’d traded genuine love for Annabelle’s shallow admiration, real values for shiny tinsel. The fruits of his selfishness and foolishness were bitter and they were his alone to bear…