When I was 17, my family went on a week-long trip to Canada while I stayed home for work. On the seventh day, I received a postcard from my mom saying they had decided to visit friends in Vermont and would return two days later.
Sure enough, they came home exactly two days late. When they apologized, I told them not to worry because I had received the postcard. My mom went pale.
She insisted they had never sent one. They only decided to extend the trip on the way home, meaning a postcard couldn’t have reached me in time—even if they had mailed it.
I went to retrieve the postcard from the stack of mail, but it had completely disappeared. To this day, I can’t explain how I knew they would return two days late—or where that mysterious postcard went.
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