I read a few sentences.

Then my chest tightened, and I sat down because my legs would not hold me properly.

I had spent three years imagining what news could arrive at my door.

A police officer.

A stranger.

A fact that would end waiting by taking something from me forever.

I had never imagined two tiny faces beneath a coat I had mended, or a page written by the person I was still searching for.

The knocking came again, gentle this time.