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

Against my apartment.”

He took his hands off the steering wheel and rested them in his lap.

“Greg?”

I nodded.

He didn’t say he had known.

Neither of us had known, and pretending otherwise would have made the morning worse.

We sat at the curb until I could stop staring at the folder.

Then he drove me to an attorney’s office.