A Stranger Left an Envelope Beside My Bed on My Sixty-Second Birthday—Then I Found His Photograph with My Son
Greg turned toward the window overlooking the sales floor.
“Don’t start.”
“I haven’t accused you.”
“You came here looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
He couldn’t answer without admitting the question he had heard in my silence.
“I have a business to run.
This is what happens when you stay in hotels and drink with men you don’t know.