Inside was an old black-and-white photo of his own grandfather as an infant.

The baby in the picture had the same dark, thick hair, the same wide-set eyes, the same stubborn chin as our Leander.

“He has your grandfather’s face,” I said.

“Your own great-grandfather to him.

If you had spent five minutes looking at your family instead of drowning in your paranoia, you would have known that the dark hair came from your side.

Not from a week I spent working sixteen-hour days in another city.”