She spread a thin line across one corner of the toast, then stopped.

“Renata, nothing in that envelope could ever change who you are to me.”

“Even if the lady is my real mother?”

I kept my hands on the table.

“Even then.”

“Then why can’t I put her in the picture?”

“You can put anyone you want in your picture.”

She considered that answer, then drew the woman’s hand reaching toward mine.