A man in a dark coat stood there.
The kind of knock from someone who knows exactly why they’re there.
Noah was still asleep, hair sticking up, one arm over his eyes.
I pulled on a hoodie and opened the door.
A man in a dark coat stood there, maybe late 40s or early 50s, with neat hair and calm eyes.
He looked like he belonged behind a desk, not at our chipped doorway.
“I’ve been trying to find your husband for a long time.”
“Good morning,” he said. “Are you Claire?”
I nodded slowly.
Every foster care alarm bell in my body started ringing.
“My name is Thomas,” he said. “I know we don’t know each other, but I’ve been trying to find your husband for a long time.”
My chest tightened.
“There’s something you don’t know about your husband.”
“Why?” I asked.
He glanced past me, like he could see into our whole life, then met my eyes again.
“There’s something you don’t know about your husband,” he said. “You need to read the letter in this envelope.”
He held out a thick envelope.
Behind me, I heard the soft sound of wheels.
“I’m here because of a man named Harold Peters.”
“Claire?” Noah mumbled.
He rolled up beside me, hair a disaster, t-shirt wrinkled, wedding ring still shiny and new.
Thomas’s face softened when he saw him.
“Hello, Noah,” he said. “You probably don’t remember me. But I’m here because of a man named Harold Peters.”
“I don’t know any Harold.”
Noah frowned.
So we let Thomas in.
Thomas nodded toward the envelope.
“He knew you. May I come in? It will be easier to explain if you read the letter.”
Everything in me said Don’t trust this, but I felt Noah’s hand brush my elbow.
“Door stays open,” he murmured.
So we let Thomas in.
Thomas set the envelope on the coffee table like it might explode.
He sat on our sagging thrift-store chair like he’d sat on worse.
Noah and I took the couch.
My knee pressed against his wheel; his hand found mine and stayed there.
Thomas set the envelope on the coffee table like it might explode.
“I’m an attorney,” he said. “I represented Mr. Peters. Before he died, he gave me very clear instructions about you.”
Noah opened it with shaking hands.
Noah looked baffled. “But I don’t know him.”
“He thought you wouldn’t,” Thomas said. “That’s why he wrote this.”
He slid the envelope closer.
Noah opened it with shaking hands, unfolded the letter, and began to read aloud.
“Dear Noah,” he read. “You probably don’t remember me. That’s all right. I remember you.”
