PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

stared at that last bin.

Walter did too.

“You open it,” he said.

I knelt and removed the lid.

Inside were photographs.

The first showed Walter as a young man, standing beside my mother in front of a diner. He had one arm around her shoulders. She looked shy and bright and impossibly young.

The second showed him holding a tiny baby.

Me.

I almost dropped it.continue reading …