outside a newly renovated shelter.
In his arms was a little girl with tangled hair and frightened eyes.
It was me.
I was five years old.
Beneath the photograph was a letter.
My dear Nora,
If you are reading this, I am gone. Forgive me for keeping the truth from you.
My estate has belonged to charity for decades. I never intended to change that. The house will become a home for children from the shelter where you arrived all those years ago.
Richard explained that he had helped fund
