The diamond brooch was found in his safe.
He had planted it in a place only he could access and intended to blame me for stealing it.
Months later, Mrs. Whitmore recovered from what had happened.
One afternoon, she handed me a small envelope.
Inside was a photograph of my father holding me as a baby.
On the back she had written:
“He never stopped loving you.”
I held the photograph against my chest and cried.
For years, I had worked whatever job I could find just to support my children.
I thought becoming Mrs. Whitmore’s driver was simply another desperate attempt to pay the bills.
I was wrong.
That job had led me back to my father.
It had uncovered the truth
about his disappearance.
And it had taught me something I’ll never forget:
Sometimes the people who accuse you the loudest are the ones terrified that you’ll discover what they’re hiding.
