this,” she whispered.
I didn’t take it. I stared at her.
“My dad said you stole from us.”
Anna’s face hardened.
“Of course he did.”
“What does that mean?”
She glanced toward my house, then stepped closer.
I didn’t take it.
“Your dad thought he’d gotten rid of me.”
A chill ran through me.
“Gotten rid of you? How?”
She didn’t answer.
Instead, she reached into her coat and pulled out a worn envelope.
My name was written across the front in handwriting I didn’t recognize.
The postmark was 12 years old.
A chill ran through me.
She placed it in my shaking hands.
“George, your father has lied to you since you were born.”
“What is this?”
Anna swallowed.
“It’s why he made me disappear. Everything your father told you about your mother was a lie.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
She looked at the envelope in my hands.
“
