“You’re Eleanor? Julian’s mother?”
My stomach clenched. “Yes.”
“My name is Marianne,” she said. “I’m your son’s attorney. I’ve known him for a while.”
Attorney.
Harold stood up, confused.
My brain went straight to the worst scenarios.
“Is he okay?” I blurted. “Has there been an accident?”
“He’s physically fine,” she said quickly. “May I come in?”
That “physically” did not reassure me.
I led her to the living room. Harold stood up, confused.
Marianne set the box on the coffee table and looked me in the eye.
The room went quiet.
“This is going to be hard to hear,” she said. “But you need to look at what your son is hiding from you.”
My knees felt weak. I sat down.
“What is that?” Harold asked.
“Documents,” she said. “About Julian. About his biological parents.”
The room went quiet.
“I thought no one ever came forward,” I said.
“Why are you here now?”
“They didn’t,” she said. “Not for him. Not when he needed them. But they did come forward for their money.”
She opened the box and pulled out neat folders, a photograph on top.
A young couple, rich-looking, polished, standing in front of a big house. They looked like a magazine ad.
“These are his biological parents,” Marianne said.
Something inside me went cold.
“Why are you here now?” Harold asked.
My hands shook as I picked it up.
“They died a few years ago,” she said. “Car accident. Old money, very well-known family, the kind that cares a lot about image.”
She slid a letter toward me.
“In their will, they left everything to their child. Julian. The one they abandoned.”
My hands shook as I picked it up.
“Why did they abandon him in the first place?” I asked.
