My father texted me, ‘To us, you’re already dead,’ and I only replied,

services thirty-two years ago.”

I sat down slowly.

Helen looked at me for a long moment before she opened the folder.

“I remember your face,” she said.

My mouth went dry.

“You knew me?”

“I knew a baby girl who looked like you.”

The room went silent.

Helen placed a faded photocopy on the table. It showed a newborn wrapped in a hospital blanket. The image was continue reading …