“What is it?” I asked. “You’re scaring me.”
He reached under the chair beside him and pulled out a small cardboard box.
“Baby, I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you sooner. But you need to know the truth about your parents.”
My hand hovered over the lid.
“What truth?”
My mind raced through every possible explanation, but nothing seemed believable enough.
“That’s my father.”
My hands shook as I lifted the lid. Inside were printed emails, faded photographs, and a handwritten letter folded into a neat square.
I looked up at Graham, my throat tight.
“What is this?”
“Months ago, someone left an envelope for me at the store,” he said quietly. “No name. Just this.”
I picked up the top photo. It showed my father and a man who looked exactly like Graham, shaking hands outside what would later become my dad’s first office.
“That’s my father,” Graham said. “Before he died.”
