He walked out without a word.
“Contest it if you like.”
I reached into the bag and pulled out the small photograph. A young Gloria, holding a baby. My father.
“She was searching for me,” I said softly. “All those years.”
“She found you,” Mr. Charleston replied. “And she made sure you’d know.”
***
A month later, I stood in the small house that Gloria had left me, hanging that photograph above the mantel.
I used part of the savings she left me to start a visitor program at the nursing home. No resident would sit alone again. Not on my watch.
“She found you.”