For one awful second, seeing white paper in her hand made my stomach tighten.
She noticed.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Stop looking at envelopes like they're explosives.”
“Given our family history, that's reasonable.”
She laughed.
Then sat across from me.
“I have something to tell you.”
I studied her.
She looked happy.
Not the frantic happiness of someone desperate to believe.
Quiet happiness.
Stable.
Her own.
She slid the envelope toward me.
Inside was a photograph.
Sophie standing beside a man I had met several times.
Daniel Reyes.
An architect who volunteered with Open Door House.
Patient.
Funny.
Terrible at remembering where he left his glasses.
They were standing in front of a little brick house.
I looked at her.
“You bought it?”
She nodded.
“With my own money.”
I smiled.
“Both names?”
“No.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“The house is in mine.”
I waited.
She grinned.
“Daniel bought the one next door.”
