“Is this CPS? Police? What’s going on?”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“No,” the man from the subway said quickly, raising his hands. “That came out wrong.”
My mom glared.
“You think?”
He looked at Lily, and something in his face broke—his calm slipping.
“My name is Graham,” he said.
He pulled a thick envelope from his coat, the kind with a silver-stamped logo.
“I need you to read this. Lily is the reason I’m here.”
I didn’t move.
“Slide it through,” I said.
I wasn’t opening the door any wider.
The envelope slipped through the gap.
I pulled out the papers.
Heavy letterhead. My name printed at the top.
Words like “scholarship,” “residency,” “full support” jumped out.
Then a photo slipped free.
A girl, maybe eleven, frozen mid-leap in a white costume, legs in a perfect split, face fierce and joyful.
She had his eyes.
On the back, in looping handwriting:
“For Dad, next time be there.”
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