“That won’t help.”

He laughed.

It sounded rusty and surprised.

Later, after Warren left, I opened a box of my mother’s letters that Leila had brought from storage.

Most were birthday cards and notes from my high school years.

One envelope, sealed with a strip of faded green tape, had been tucked beneath her favorite recipe book.

Across the front, in her handwriting, were the words: For Natalie, when she’s ready to ask about her father.

I sat at the kitchen table for a long time before opening it.