[You mentioned wanting me to travel the world with you. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll come find you in Australia the day after tomorrow.]
As I put down my phone, the pain in my chest became unbearable.
I had just lost another child—and this time, it had been murdered by his own mother.
I locked myself in the bathroom, memories of the past three years with Adriana flashing through my mind.
Silent tears slid down my face.
As I stood, my phone slipped from my hand and fell to the floor.
When I bent down to pick it up, I noticed something hidden beneath the sink cabinet—wrapped layer after layer in expensive silk, as if it were a treasured artifact.
I unwrapped it—and found a thick photo album.
It contained every photo of Khalil from the age of 15 to 28.
I recognized the cover—it was the same one I’d once seen in Adriana’s office.
Adriana had always loved photography.
Though technically Melissa’s aunt, she was only a few years older than us. When we were kids, she always carried herself with a cold, aloof demeanor—watching Melissa and me play from the sidelines, as if our games were too childish to bother with.