“I wasn’t sure whether to bring this,” he said.
Richard stood.
Daniel noticed. “It’s not a legal document. It was in Whitney’s car. She dropped her purse when I drove her home last night. This fell out.”
I accepted it carefully.
The envelope had already been opened.
Inside was a photograph.
For one disorienting second, I thought it was another picture of my mother with me as a baby. But then I saw the colors were modern, the paper glossy.
It was a photo of Noah.
Not one I had sent.
He was asleep in his hospital nursery bassinet, wearing the blue cap the nurses had given him when he was born. The little card beside him read: Noah Bennett. Baby Boy. Date of Birth.
My breath stopped.
Evelyn leaned closer. “Claire?”
“I didn’t give this to her.”
Richard took the photo gently.
On the back, Whitney had written one line.
