A Stranger Left an Envelope Beside My Bed on My Sixty-Second Birthday—Then I Found His Photograph with My Son
“Daniel.”
He stood beside a silver sedan.
His hand rested on its roof.
“Can I help you, ma’am?”
The courtesy was worse than an insult.
“My key,” I said.
“You took it from my purse.”
He glanced toward the restaurant door.
