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

“I’ll make it work.”

I wanted to accept that sentence.

I wanted to drink the coffee, put away the soup, and have a son whose apology meant the world had tilted back toward its proper position.

But he had come with questions again.

At the table, he took a legal pad from his jacket.

“Did this Daniel mention where he was going?

Anyone he knew around here?”

“No one by name.”