A few seconds later, I heard him dragging something heavy across the floor.
When I followed him, I saw that he had pulled a large, dark brown suitcase from underneath his bed.
It was secured with two locks.
“Why have you been hiding all this?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he pulled a small key from his pocket.
Before opening the suitcase, he looked directly at me.
“Your father believes I destroyed the most important thing in his life.”
My throat went dry.
“What did you destroy?”
He lifted the lid.
Inside were old photographs, envelopes, and a small red box.
On top lay a photograph of a woman.
A beautiful young woman wearing white.
I recognized her immediately.
It was my mother.
But the man standing beside her wasn’t my father.