“I called him,” she told me.
Then she faced Richard.
“Did you keep it?”
Richard removed his coat but remained standing.
“Every day.”
He reached inside his wallet and removed a folded square of paper. Its creases were so worn they had become nearly transparent.
He placed it beside the photograph.
Rose did not reach for it.
I unfolded the note.
“Promise me she’ll always grow up believing she was wanted. Never make her feel like someone gave her away.”
I read it twice.
Then I looked at Richard.
He slid into the booth beside me, leaving several inches between us.
Neither he nor Rose spoke.
The waitress approached with a coffeepot, glanced at our faces, and quietly turned away.
“Richard?”
He kept his eyes on the note.
“Claire,” he replied.
The name landed softly, yet everything inside me shifted.
Rose slowly turned her cup in circles.
I looked between them.
