A Stranger Left an Envelope Beside My Bed on My Sixty-Second Birthday—Then I Found His Photograph with My Son
Frank nodded without correcting my caution.
We played it again.
Before the man moved away, his hand tapped against the roof of the car.
I gripped the mouse.
“That’s Daniel.”
The driver remained seated.
Rain and glare obscured the windshield.
A wrist moved near the steering wheel, but we could not make out the face.