My husband, Robert, was already 82 and I was 79. We had spent practically our whole lives together. We had raised two children, we had five grandchildren and I was convinced there was nothing about him that I didn’t know.
That day, our granddaughter just wanted to take a picture of us together.
Robert, as always, began to joke, put a toothpick in the corner of his lips and said:
“Keep this picture. When I’m gone, they’ll at least remember that I was a handsome man.”
We all laughed.
That same night, our granddaughter posted the photo on Facebook.
Two hours later, my phone started ringing non-stop.
She was my granddaughter.
“Grandma, there’s something you have to see.”
He sent me a screenshot.
Under the photo, a woman who appeared to be about fifty had written:
“Please, have someone contact me. That man is my father. I’ve been looking for it for 47 years.”
