The Photograph of a Newborn in a Yellow Knitted Hat
I looked at the jagged tear across the thick paper flap.
The glue had dried out and gone brittle years ago.
“Why did you bring this to me?” I asked.
“Why not take it to a teacher?”
“Because your name is on the front,” Lily said.
I turned the envelope over.
Written across the middle in faded black marker was my full legal name, in Paul’s unmistakable slanted handwriting.
“She’s going to notice this is missing today,” I said.
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