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He didn’t stop walking until we were near the coat racks, half-hidden by plants. Laughter spilled from the reception behind us.
“Told by who?”
He swallowed. “Mom.”
“I swear to you. A lawyer called me this morning. He knew her name. Her illness. The date she died.”
My chest tightened.
He pulled an envelope from his jacket. Thick. Sealed.
“What’s in it?” I whispered.
I asked him to read it. He shook his head.