Charlie, 15, left school with his backpack dangling, the parking lot alive with students. His friend Max mentioned a test, but Charlie was distracted. “Another test? I’m so over it,” he sighed. Max laughed, but Charlie’s mood worsened when his mom’s car wasn’t there. “Late again,” he muttered. Max shared that his parents got him a car for his birthday, igniting Charlie’s jealousy. “A car? That’s so cool,” he said, envious. Max urged gratitude, but Charlie frowned as Max walked away.
When his mom, Rachel, honked, Charlie slumped into her car. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “You’re always late,” he snapped. He brought up Max’s car, asking for one for his birthday. Rachel said she had a gift but couldn’t afford a car yet. “Years from now? That’s lame,” Charlie grumbled. Rachel’s apology didn’t help, and they drove home quietly. She left for errands, her calm reaction to their argument stirring Charlie’s curiosity. What wasn’t she saying?
Alone, Charlie slipped into Rachel’s room, opening her laptop. He found an email about a birthday delivery, followed by 14 more for future years. Searching further, he found a storage unit key. Pulse racing, he biked to the unit, opening it to find wrapped gifts with Rachel’s notes. One read: “Happy 20th, my boy. This journal’s for your dreams.” Another note crushed him: “If you’re reading this, I may be gone. My cancer’s untreatable, but these gifts are my love for you.”
Charlie’s tears fell as he realized Rachel’s gifts were her way to stay close after she was gone. He locked the unit, biking home, heart aching. Rachel was reading when he entered, his face tearful. “What happened?” she asked, worried. Charlie hugged her, sobbing, “I saw the gifts. Why keep it secret?” Rachel’s eyes welled. “There’s no cure, Charlie.” He clung to her. “Forget gifts. I need you.” They cried, Rachel whispering, “I love you.” Charlie learned that her love was the greatest gift, vowing to treasure their time together.
