“I’m the person your mother was afraid of.”
Before I could type another word, another message arrived.
It was a photograph.
An old picture of my mother, taken when she was young. She was standing in front of a house I had never seen before.
But my mother wasn’t what terrified me.
Standing beside her was a man wearing a black coat.
I zoomed in.
My hands started shaking.
It was my Uncle Joseph.
The same uncle who had stood beside my mother’s grave only hours earlier, crying harder than anyone else.
My phone buzzed again.
