For Fourteen Years My Son Lived Rent-Free in a House He Believed Was His

I set the velvet box in the middle of the suitcase, right beside the framed photo of Evelyn sitting on the porch steps.

I took my mobile phone out of my pocket and called Margaret’s direct line at her law office in the strip mall.

She picked up on the second ring.

“Robert,” she said.

“Did Brandon talk to you today?”

“He was just over here,” I said.

“He brought a yellow pad with him.”

“What was he asking for?”