My fingers trembled as I unwrapped the blue towel. Inside was a small silver music box, a photograph, and a hospital bracelet bearing my mother’s name. The photograph showed Mom holding a newborn baby. I recognized myself immediately. On its back, she had written, “My beautiful boy, the reason I kept fighting.” Walter sat beside me and finally explained that Mom had survived her illness but suffered memory complications afterward. She had spent years trying to reconnect with us, while Dad feared reopening old wounds.
“Where is she now?” I demanded. Walter quietly handed me another envelope.
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