Chapter 2: The Voice Inside the Yellow Box
Inside was a photograph of Anna standing beside a woman who had my eyes and my crooked smile.
On the back were the words: “For George, when he is old enough to know me.
Love, Mom.”
“This can’t be real,” I whispered.
“My mother d!ed when I was a baby.”
“No,” Anna said.
“She was alive when this picture was taken.
You were twelve.”
My hands began to shake.
“Then why didn’t she come for me?”
“She tried.
That was the surprise I planned to give you on your thirteenth birthday.”
Before I could speak, the front door opened.
Dad stepped onto the porch.
The moment he saw Anna, all the color left his face.
“You,” he breathed.
Anna moved between us.
“Tell him, Robert.”
Dad grabbed my arm.
“Get inside, George.
She’s lying.”
“Then explain the photograph!”
His eyes dropped to the envelope, and his grip tightened.
“That belongs to me.”
He reached for it, but Anna pulled me back.
“No,” she said.
“It belongs to George—along with the letter you intercepted and the money you accused me of st3aling.”
Dad froze.
Then a phone began ringing inside Anna’s little yellow box.
She looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“Answer it, George.
There’s someone who has waited twelve years to hear your voice.”
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Who was calling George—and why was his father terrified?
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