A dark sedan was parked behind my station wagon.

It was not Thomas’s car.

This car was older, with a dented passenger door.

A woman was getting out of the driver’s seat.

She wore a heavy trench coat against the damp night air.

She pulled her hood up, but I could see the reflection of the porch light on her pale face.

It was Rebecca.

Caroline stood up beside me, her breath catching in her throat.

“Who is that?” Caroline asked.

“It is your mother,” I whispered.

Rebecca walked up the porch steps, her boots clicking against the wooden planks.

She did not knock.

Instead, she slid something under the front door.

A white envelope.

The screen door creaked as she turned and walked quickly back to her car.

I hurried out of the office and into the front hallway.

The wooden floorboards were cold beneath my socks.

I reached the front door just as her car engine started up.

On the floor mat lay the white envelope.

My name was written on the front in hurried, cursive handwriting.

My hand trembled as I reached down to pick it up.