She couldn’t have been more than five years old.
Her hair was tangled.
Her dress was too large.
Her arms were wrapped tightly around the man’s neck.
I looked at the man’s face.
Even though he was decades younger, I knew him immediately.
Richard.
My eyes moved back to the little girl.
My heart stopped.
Because I knew her too.
I was looking at myself.
“What is this?” I whispered.
The lawyer leaned forward.
“Richard wanted you to see it after he was gone.”
I turned the photograph over.
There was a date written on the back.
And beneath it were four words in Richard’s handwriting.
She deserved a home.
I looked at the lawyer.
“Why did he have this?”
The lawyer took a slow breath.
“That’s the question I think you need to answer.”
And suddenly, I remembered something Richard had said to me during our first week together.
