The envelope contained a recent photograph of a woman standing outside a little cottage. On the back, Dad had written her address and the words, “She still remembers your birthday.” I stared at the picture, searching her face for something familiar. Walter explained that Dad had been sending her money every month, using part of his savings and the rent I had unknowingly helped him collect. The envelopes weren’t simply returned rent. They were proof of how carefully he had saved for our reunion. I grabbed my jacket. “Take me there,” I told Walter.
We drove for nearly two hours. When the cottage appeared, my heart began pounding. A woman opened the door. Her eyes filled with tears. “Daniel?” she whispered.
