handwriting wandered across the page, looping in places, steady in others.
“My dear boy who is not my boy. My memory failed me, but my eyes never did. I knew your face was not his. I let you stay because you stayed. That was enough. The key opens what I have saved. Use half for my friends here. They have so little.”
I didn’t think much of it at the time.
I pressed my thumb against the paper. A small brass key slid into my palm.
“She left it to
