The same balcony.
“What is this?”
My father sat down.
“One of the oldest photos of you.”
“But you always told me that after I was born, you brought me home.”
He lowered his eyes.
“We didn’t bring you home from the hospital.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The first time I ever held you was right here.”
My whole body went cold.
“How could a newborn baby have been in a hotel?”
My father took a deep breath.
“Twenty-nine years ago, your mother and I worked here. I was in maintenance. She worked at the front desk. One night, an eighteen-year-old girl came into the lobby carrying a baby who was only a few days old.”
I said nothing.
“She was asking for help,” my father continued. “She was alone. Her family had turned their backs on her. We called the police and the proper services. That night, we
