For several minutes, only unrelated documents appeared: insurance forms, travel itineraries, home repair receipts.
Then one result surfaced.
An image file.
No title except a date from eight years ago, three years before I met Lucas.
I opened it.
It was a scanned photograph of a building.
A large white house with green shutters and a wraparound porch, set back from a road lined with laurel hedges. The image looked old, slightly faded. On the back, someone had written in blue ink:
Laurel House, May 1998.
I enlarged the photo.
There were four people standing on the porch.
A middle-aged couple I didn’t recognize.
A teenage boy with sandy hair.
And a little girl in a yellow dress.
I leaned closer.
The boy was young, but unmistakable.
Lucas.
My fingers went cold.
Why did we have this photo?
Why had Lucas never mentioned Laurel House?
I sent the image to
