I had spent decades believing Jonah had abandoned us, and now he was beyond hearing the truth.

“There may be family,” Tobias said.

“A sister listed in his obituary.

Her name is Claire.”

I asked him to wait until I had time to think.

That night I reread the photograph of the cottage more than once.

In my imagination, I saw an eighteen-year-old girl stepping onto its porch with a baby in her arms.

I saw a young man opening the door.