“Mrs. Callahan?” I asked nervously.
“Yes?” she answered politely.
“My name is Gemma, and I am Simon’s wife,” I introduced myself clearly.
“Oh,” she replied softly, and that single word told me immediately that I had finally found the right person.
“Simon contacted you late last year,” I stated firmly.
“Yes, he did,” she confirmed gently.
“I need to know why,” I said quietly into the receiver.
Two hours later, I was sitting across from an eighty-one-year-old woman in her quiet living room. Mrs. Callahan reached over to her side table and pushed an old, faded photograph toward me.
“Which one is Simon?” she asked gently.
She reached out her hand and touched the taller boy in the photograph.
“And who is the other child?” I asked, looking closely at the image.
“That is Julian,” she revealed softly.
“Who is Julian?” I inquired, my brows furrowing in total confusion.
