I hadn’t been there in decades. Now I’m sitting with a letter from her attorney—one I didn’t know she had.
I know what’s within this envelope bearing my other name. Its scrolled tattoos marched in unassuming lines.
The violation infuriates me. I never wanted to be found. I want to shred the damn thing, but my fingers tear it open instead.
I don’t look at the rusted, nightmare truck and barbed fence what’s scar I wear.
On the back is scrawled:
‘I believe you now. My ashes will be inside to atone.’
I burn the photograph.
Ashes to ashes.