not to look emotional,” with an ache in my chest I could not explain.
The envelope arrived that morning.
Same size.
Same plain white paper.
Same careful handwriting.
Adrian saw it on the table and gave me that familiar smile from childhood.
For one second, I saw the six-year-old boy again.
“There it is,” he said softly.
He picked it up and turned it over.”Open it,” I said.
“You sound nervous.”
“I am always nervous.”
“About my birthday card?”
“About everything. I raised you.”
He laughed, then slid his
