I asked why he had bothered.

He said, ‘Your mother looked frightened when she realized I’d seen it.

I figured you should have a copy that couldn’t disappear.’

My gaze traveled to the drawer where the papers lay beneath my spare hospital gown.

I was still far more concerned with keeping Noah fed than with figuring out an inheritance.

But somebody had cared enough to preserve something that belonged to me.

After years of being told to accept whatever I was given, that felt like the beginning of a different kind of life.