Inside the box lay a faded photograph, a small silver pendant, and a folded letter in Adam’s shaky handwriting. The photograph showed a young girl with a gap-toothed smile, standing beside a smiling woman in a hospital uniform. I knew the girl at once. It was my daughter, Emma. My hands shook so badly the pendant slipped from my fingers and rang against the floor.

Grace whispered, “Dad said to read the letter out loud.” I unfolded the page, and my voice cracked on the first line: “Dear Rachel, if you are reading this, then Grace has kept her promise. I have known who you were since the day you braided her hair.” I could not breathe. The letter went on, and the next sentence made the kitchen spin around me.