The hospital called and said a little boy had listed me as his emergency contact. I laughed nervously and said, “That’s impossible. I’m 32, single, and I don’t have a son.”

”
Maribel looked at me. “We haven’t opened it. We were waiting for a guardian.”
“I’m not his guardian.”
“No,” she said softly. “But right now, you’re the only adult he’ll speak to.”
Oliver held out the envelope. My name was written across the front in Rachel’s handwriting. Nora.
I sat beside his bed and opened it carefully. The letter was short, messy, continue reading …