Adrian Moretti
Moretti Holdings
Chicago, Illinois
Across the lower corner, someone had written in red ink:
Addressee unavailable.
But I had been available.
I had been in my office every day.
I turned the envelope over. The seal had been broken, then pressed closed again. Inside was a single sheet and a photograph from the hospital.
Evelyn beside two transparent bassinets.
Samuel asleep beneath a blue blanket.
Lily awake, her tiny hand lifted toward the camera.
I could barely breathe.
“I didn’t know,” I said.
“I believe you.”
That was somehow worse than anger.
“You believe me?”
“I believe you didn’t receive the letters. I don’t know why.”
Neither did I.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
Evelyn quickly gathered the papers.
“You need to leave.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
She placed the folder against her chest.
“You have a life in Chicago that cannot simply be placed beside ours because you discovered us. Lily and Samuel are not evidence. They’re not an inheritance. They’re children.”
