Then I reached the next paragraph.
“But there is another reason I chose you.”
I looked at Mr. Whitmore.
He nodded.
“Keep reading.”
PART 3 — THE PHOTOGRAPH
Eleanor’s letter continued.
“Twenty-eight years ago, I made a decision that changed another person’s life.”
My heart began beating faster.
“I had a younger sister named Margaret.”
I froze.
Eleanor had always told me she had no family.
No husband.
No children.
No siblings.
Apparently, that wasn’t the whole truth.
“Margaret died when she was twenty-nine. She left behind a little boy.”
I stared at the page.
A little boy.
The lawyer reached into his briefcase and pulled out an old photograph.
He handed it to me.
The picture showed a young Eleanor holding a toddler.
I turned it over.
On the back was a name.
Daniel.
My name.
I stopped breathing.
“That can’t be…”
Mr. Whitmore said quietly:
“Your mother was Margaret.”
