“And the photograph?” I asked.
Richard’s eyes moved to mine.
For the first time, I saw not only concern in his face, but grief.
“That picture was taken two days after you came home from the hospital,” he said.
“You were there?”
“I was there for three weeks.”
I stared at him. “I don’t remember anyone ever saying that.”
“They wouldn’t.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the hallway, where nurses moved quietly past the half-open door.
“Because when you were born, your mother asked me to be your legal guardian if anything happened to her.”
That landed differently than the trust. The trust was money, documents, signatures. This was something else.
A choice.
A promise.
“My mother asked you?”
“Yes.”
“But she acts like she barely tolerates you.”
A shadow crossed his face. “That came later.”
Evelyn reached for his hand. He accepted it without looking away from me.
