For 18 years, my son received a mysterious envelope every birthday—when he finally opened the last one, he discovered who had been sending them all along

we stopped trying to solve the mystery aloud. The envelope simply became part of his birthday. Like candles. Birthday photos. Like me pretending not to get emotional each year as my little boy grew taller, his voice deepened, and he moved farther away from the child who once asked whether worms had mothers.

Then last week, Adrian turned eighteen.

I had continue reading …