The woman’s face went pale.
“My name is Rebecca. Sophia was my best friend.”
She opened the leather satchel and pulled out a sealed envelope.
My name was written across it in Sophia’s handwriting.
I nearly dropped it.
Inside was an old photograph.
Sophia was standing beside a hospital bed, holding a newborn baby.
On the back she had written:
“Claire, if anything happens to me, protect my son.”
I slowly looked at Eli.
He was staring back at me.
“No…” I whispered.
Rebecca nodded.
“Eli is Sophia’s son.”
My knees almost gave out.
“But why didn’t she contact me?”
Rebecca looked over her shoulder again.
“Because the man she was running from knew exactly where you lived.”
Then she handed me one final photograph.
I recognized the man immediately.
He had been sitting at my family’s Thanksgiving table every year for the last twenty years.
My uncle.
At that exact moment, my phone rang.
His name appeared on the screen.
I answered without speaking.
There was silence for several seconds.
Then he whispered:
“Claire… walk away from the boy.”
And the call ended.
