A Stranger Left an Envelope Beside My Bed on My Sixty-Second Birthday—Then I Found His Photograph with My Son

I collected it myself.

There was no stamp, no name, and no return address.

It looked like the envelope from the Lombard, though looking alike did not mean it had come from the same place.

I carried it upstairs on a folded newspaper.

Frank stood at the kitchen doorway while I opened the flap.

Inside was a photograph.

Daniel stood beneath the green awning outside Greg’s hardware store.

My son stood beside him, smiling, with one hand on his shoulder.