“But I lied about one thing,” the letter continued. “I didn’t just leave him behind. I kept tabs on him. I paid people to watch him.” “I know where he is. And I know he has been looking for me.”
My heart hammered. She knew? She had known all this time? “He doesn’t know I’m white. He doesn’t know his father was a senator’s son.” “He thinks he was abandoned. Please, Oliver. Find him. Tell him I loved him.” I wiped my eyes. She wanted me to clean up a mess that was sixty years old. She wanted me to find a man who was likely in his sixties now. A man who was the reason she had lived in fear her entire life.
I looked at the bottom of the letter. There was an address. It was in this city. Chicago. He wasn’t back South. He was here. She had moved us here not just for safety, but to be near him.
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