A Stranger Left an Envelope Beside My Bed on My Sixty-Second Birthday—Then I Found His Photograph with My Son
He doesn’t need this right now.”
I turned off the kettle.
“And what about my forty-two thousand dollars?
Does that matter?”
“Of course.”
“Then stop discussing his stress as if it explains why mine should be quiet.”
Her hand paused on the handle of her mug.
I had never spoken to her that way.
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