“What is this?”
“There’s one thing he never wanted you to find out.”
Anna pointed at the seal.
“Open it.”
My fingers barely worked as I slid them beneath the flap.
The moment I saw what was inside, tears ran down my face before I even understood I was crying.
“Open it.”
I looked up.
Anna was crying too.
“No,” I whispered.
She nodded.
“Yes.”
***
My mother died when I was a baby.
My dad, Richard, never talked about her.
He told me her name was Laura, and that she had complications after giving birth.
Anna was crying too.
There were no photos in the house.
Whenever I asked why, Dad said grief had made him put everything away.
I believed him.
Why wouldn’t I?
Anna had cared for me since I was eight months old.
She was the closest thing I had to a mother.
