The house belonged to an approved foster care family. A kind-looking woman answered the door after I knocked.
“Hello, I am Denise,” she said warmly.
“I am Gemma,” I introduced myself nervously.
Her facial expression changed instantly from polite curiosity to deep sympathy. “You are Simon’s wife.”
“You knew him?” I asked, my voice trembling slightly.
“He came here to visit Leo,” Denise explained, stepping aside.
My knees felt incredibly weak beneath me. “Can I see him?”
Denise studied my visibly pregnant frame and tired eyes, then sighed softly. “Come inside.”
A little boy was sitting on the living room rug, building an elaborate wooden train track. He looked up as we walked into the room. He had dark eyes and a stubborn cowlick on the left side of his head.
I grabbed the wooden back of a nearby dining chair to steady myself. “Oh my God.”
Denise stepped closer to my side. “Are you okay, Gemma?”
