I caught my son slipping his expensive dinner into our maid’s old bag. Furious, I demanded, “Why are you stealing from your own family?” He looked up with tears in his eyes and whispered, “Because she’s my real mom, and she only eats our leftovers.” My world spun as I looked at the hidden photo in her bag…
refusing to look away. “Explain it to me, Grace. Now.”
For a moment, I thought she might throw something at me. Instead, a deep, shuddering sigh wracked her thin frame. She reached into her pocket, retrieved a worn, leather wallet, and extracted a creased, slightly faded school photograph. She slapped it onto the polished wood of my desk.
