Underneath the sweater lay stacks of cash bound with rubber bands, and beside them a small black pouch. My hands shook as I unzipped it. Inside was a hospital bracelet, a tiny pair of baby socks, and a folded letter with my name written on the front in Hannah’s handwriting. My heart pounded so loudly I could barely hear the knock that came at my door just minutes later.

I opened it, and Hannah stood there pale, still holding my suitcase, her eyes red from crying. “Dana,” she whispered, “I was going to tell you this weekend. I swear I was.” Behind her, a man in a navy jacket stepped forward and asked quietly, “Is this the woman who has the money?” Hannah gripped my arm. “Please, don’t say anything yet. Read the letter first.”