I felt the envelope hidden under the hoodie press my back, as if it had weighed a few pounds. My mother stood in front of me, with red eyes of crying and with trembling hands. Just a few minutes before, I had seen my father struggle to breathe. Now I had to choose between respecting his last request and telling the truth to the woman who had given me life.
“I think he was looking for his wallet,” I replied, trying to keep my voice calm. I’m not sure.
My mom looked at the bag again. Then he picked her up and started rattling through her clothes, though she didn’t seem to be looking for anything. He checked the side pocket, the inside compartment and even the pair of pants from which the father had removed the envelope. When he finished, he had an expression I had never seen before.
