Chapter 5 - A Photograph in His Wallet
Rosa arranged for another physician to take over my care.
Dr. Mercer agreed before anyone asked him twice.
“I’m too close to this,” he said.
It was the first sentence that made me trust him completely.
He could have used his position.
Instead, he stepped away from it.
An hour later, he returned as a visitor.
He brought no flowers.
No expensive gift.
Just a worn photograph in a plastic sleeve.
A young woman stood beside a dark-haired man outside a small brick house.
Between them was a toddler in striped overalls.
Eleanor.
Gabriel.
Their son.
I studied the child’s face.
The resemblance to Julian was there, but softer.
The same eyebrows.
The same little dent in his chin.
Dr. Mercer pointed to the corner.
“Her sister took it.”
“Does Eleanor have a sister?”
“She did.”
Julian had never mentioned one.
“Claire,” the doctor said.
“She died years ago.”
“Did she know what happened?”
“I never found out.”
He sat with the photograph in his hands.
“Robert Vance told me to leave Eleanor alone.”
“When?”
“After she married him.”
“So you knew where she was.”
“Eventually.”
“Why didn’t you go to court?”
“I did.”
He spoke without defensiveness.
“There were letters from doctors claiming she was recovering from severe trauma.”
He looked at the photograph.
“My lawyer was told the child had already died abroad.”
“And you believed them?”
“I believed enough people repeating the same terrible thing.”
His eyes met mine.
“That is a failure I’ve lived with.”
I heard no demand for sympathy.
Only regret.
Before I could respond, a woman entered carrying a canvas bag.
“Nora Bennett,” she said.
“Legal aid asked me to come.”
She had gray streaks in her hair and shoes made for walking into difficult rooms.
“I understand someone wants your signature.”
“Several someones.”
“Then we start there.”
She read Julian’s proposed agreement.
Three pages later, she stopped.
“Did he explain this paragraph?”
“No.”
“It names Eleanor as the baby’s proposed financial guardian.”
I frowned.
“Why would Owen need one?”
Nora turned the document around.
A trust reference appeared in small print.
Robert Vance’s estate.
I had seen that number before.
On a transfer authorization.
“Robert left money for his grandchildren,” I said.
Nora’s expression sharpened.
“How much?”
Before I could answer, Julian sent a message.
You have until six.
Then I file everything.
May you like
Attached was a photograph of my yellow envelope.
Every page had been spread across his mother’s dining table.
