Inside were a stack of faded envelopes tied with a ribbon, a folded lab report, and a letter in Mom’s handwriting addressed to Milo. On top lay a small photograph. Milo picked it up, and his hands began to shake. It was a picture of a young woman with curly hair, holding a newborn. “That’s my mom,” he whispered. “That’s me. Where did she get this?”

The attorney cleared his throat. “Those envelopes were found in your mother’s attic,” he said to me, “in the desk your brother used as a teenager.” I looked at my brother. He had sat back down, his face gray. Milo glanced at the name on the top envelope, my brother’s name, then unfolded the lab report and read the first line aloud. Grandparentage test. Probability of relationship: 99.8 percent. Then he looked up at my brother. “You’re my father.”