We remained quiet a while.

Then Oliver looked toward us and shouted a new word he’d been practicing all week.

“Grandpa!”

Warren’s face lit up.

He opened his arms, and Oliver toddled into them without hesitation.

I took a photograph.

It wasn’t a portrait of a rescued woman and a billionaire benefactor.

It was a picture of my son, my father, and an ordinary afternoon.

The light caught the leaves, Oliver laughed, and Warren’s eyes were wet.

That was the future Vance’s hidden letter had almost stolen from us.

And this time, no one else would decide whether we were allowed to have it.