My father threw me out on my eighteenth birthday, stole the $3,000 I’d saved from working after school, and used it for my stepbrother. Nine days later, while I was digging through a restaurant dumpster for something to eat, a stranger in an expensive suit called my name and told me my supposedly dead grandfather had left me everything. But there was one condition nobody had warned me about.

I took the top notebook.

The cover was worn at the corners. The first entry was dated three months after my birth.

Nathaniel is healthy. Claire sent no word. Thomas says she does not want me involved.

The next entries were scattered over years.

I sent another letter. Returned.

Thomas says Claire is angry that I offered money. I wish she would tell me herself.

Nathaniel started school today. I watched from across the street. He has Claire’s habit of biting his lip when concentrating.

I should have approached him. I did not.

Claire is ill. Thomas says the doctors are optimistic. I have asked for details. He refuses to provide them.

I cannot decide whether respecting her privacy has become an excuse for my cowardice.

I turned the pages more slowly.

The last entry was written three weeks before his death.

Richard says Nathaniel’s trust was closed without proper authorization. I believe Thomas used his signature. If I am right, then I have allowed my fear to endanger the child I meant to protect.