“He wants to meet me, Grandma. He keeps talking about my future.”

“It is your decision, Caroline,” I said softly. “You don’t owe him anything.”

“I know,” she said. “But I want to look him in the eye. I want to see if he still looks away when he sees my shoulder.”

The honesty of her words cut through me.

Before I could answer, my phone on the counter buzzed against the granite.

It was not a call from Thomas.

The screen displayed an unknown Richmond number, followed by a text message.

I picked up the phone, my thumb sliding across the glass to unlock it.

The message was from Rebecca.

*Caroline, please. I need to see you both. I have something Thomas doesn’t know about.*

My breath caught in my throat.

I had not heard from Rebecca since the day she signed over her parental rights.

“Who is it?” Caroline asked, her analytical eyes instantly locking onto my face.

“Your mother,” I said.

Caroline slowly closed her laptop, the screen clicking shut.

“What does she want?”

“She says she has something,” I replied, reading the next text that popped up.

A photo attached to the message loaded slowly, pixel by pixel.

It was an image of a yellowed envelope, sealed with old red wax, addressed to Caroline on the day of her birth.

The handwriting on the envelope belonged to my late husband, Arthur, who had died the day before Caroline was born.

*I never opened it,* Rebecca’s text read. *Thomas made me hide it. You need to know what is inside.*

The phone felt heavy in my hand.

Caroline leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the screen, her face pale but determined.

“We need to meet her,” Caroline said.

At that exact moment, the landline phone on the wall began to ring.

The sound was loud and shrill in the quiet kitchen.