It opened.
And I swear, at that moment, it felt like I had just won a bid for a billion-year-old artifact. Not because of the money. No. This was deeper than wealth. This was the first thing that had gone right since I woke up in this soggy diaper circus of a household.
I grinned. No, I almost cried. I had power. I had knowledge.
And in ten minutes, that power shattered me.
Emails. Messages. Notes. Calendar.
It was all there. Catherine O’Sullivan. Half Irish, half Korean.
Married to Ray O’Sullivan, a truck driver who worked deliveries to Scotland and came home every weekend. The man was real. Just not present. The adult shoes. The razor. The unwashed smell of man lingering faintly in the hallway, I wasn’t hallucinating.
They had been married for ten years. No living parents. No sibl
