Matthias set his keys down and gripped the edge of the wood as though he needed to hold onto something.

Fabian laid the folder in the center of the table.

“Before you say anything, Matthias — I did not keep this from you to hurt you.” “Just talk, Fabian.” He opened it.

Inside were old legal documents, a yellowed photograph, a copy of a birth certificate.

I leaned in.

The photograph showed Matthias’s late father, Bertram Selwyn, standing beside a young woman I had never seen, and the woman was holding an infant.