A Suitcase of Promises: How I Sold My Father’s Hope for Peace

into a drawer.

“There’s something,” she said.

She pulled out an envelope.

My name was on it.

David.

Not Davey.

Not son.

Just David, written in that shaky hand.

“He gave this to me two weeks before he passed,” she said. “He told me, ‘If my boy comes back crying, give him this.’”

My hands refused to move for a second. My body didn’t believe it had the right to continue reading …