“I said yeah.”

Yet Noah never missed a Saturday unless we were away.

Not during summer heat.

Not during cold October mornings.

Not even the morning after his prom.

Then, four years later, Mr. Vance died.

His son Aaron came to our door personally.

“My dad passed last night,” he told Noah.

Noah’s first question was, “Was he alone?”

“No. Claire and I were there.”

Noah nodded.

“When’s the funeral?”

Three days later, we attended.

After the service, a man in a gray suit approached Noah and introduced himself as Daniel, the attorney handling Mr. Vance’s estate.

He handed Noah a thick envelope.

“He left this specifically for you.”

Inside were four smaller envelopes.

Each had a label written by hand:

Saturday One.

Saturday Two.

Saturday Three.

Saturday Four.

Aaron and Claire looked confused.

They had never seen them before.

The lawyer explained that Mr. Vance had left very specific instructions.

Noah was supposed to open one envelope every Saturday.

In order.

Noah laughed softly.

“That sounds like him.”

And unexpectedly, Aaron smiled.

“Yeah,” he said. “It does.”

PART 2

The next Saturday, Noah opened the first envelope at our kitchen table while Aaron and Claire watched.

Inside was an address and a short instruction:

Take Claire with you.

The address belonged to an old diner.