She hesitated for days, the photographs tucked into a manila envelope on her dresser. Every time she passed, the faces seemed to plead with her. At last, she couldn’t stand it. She found the address listed for Evelyn Armitage and drove across town, clutching the envelope like contraband.
The house was modest, peeling paint on the shutters, a porch swing shifting in the wind. Margaret’s knees felt weak as she stepped onto the porch. Margaret stood on the step, envelope in hand, heart hammering like she was back in high school waiting for exam results.