Lucas lifted out a yellowed envelope and a small silver locket. The envelope bore his name in my mother’s shaky handwriting. He looked at me, then at the lawyer, and the lawyer nodded. “Read it aloud, please,” he said. My brother sank back into his chair, gray-faced, gripping the armrests. Lucas unfolded the page, and his voice trembled on the very first line.

“Lucas, you once told me you never knew your mother. I knew her. Her name was Rebecca, and she was my daughter.” The room stopped breathing. I stared at my brother, who covered his face. Lucas looked at the locket and pressed it open with a shaking thumb. Inside was a tiny photograph of a baby, and on the opposite side, a lock of dark hair.