After Richie left for work and the girls went to school, I grabbed a shovel and walked next door.
The apple tree stood near the fence where it always had, its branches crooked with age.
I pushed the shovel into the ground.
The soil was soft.
After a few minutes the blade hit something hard.
A dull metallic sound echoed through the quiet yard.
My heart started racing.
I knelt down and brushed away the dirt until the edge of a small metal box appeared.
It was rusty and heavy.
Old.
I pulled it out of the ground and wiped away the mud.
For a moment I just stared at it.
Then I opened it.
Inside were photographs.
Old ones.
At the top was a picture of a young man in a hospital room holding a newborn baby.
When I looked closer, my breath caught.
Because the baby in his arms…
was me.
Under the photograph was a hospital bracelet with my name on it.
