Another showed a boy.
On the back:
Our first Christmas together.
The child looked exactly like me.
But I was already three in 1977.
Why would Dad call my fourth Christmas our first together?
Why had he kept these photographs?
Beneath the photographs lay an envelope dated twenty years earlier.
Addressed to Eleanor and George.
Signed Michael.
I read the letter aloud.
“I’ve been searching for years. I finally found your address.”
The child looked exactly like me.
I turned the page.
“I don’t want to cause trouble. I just need to know what happened to her.”
I stopped.
“Who are you looking for, Michael?”
***
The next morning, supermarket manager Patricia arranged a meeting with Michael.
I’ve been searching for years.
We met outside a coffee shop.
“First, explain what you did to my mother.”
“I was wrong. There’s no excuse.”
“Then why did you cry?”
“I recognized that locket.”
