I led him to the garage.
At the back of a cabinet was a sealed plastic box I had not opened since we moved out of our old apartment.
I had found it too painful to look at what was inside it.
Inside were Goldi's photographs, university notebooks, a green scarf she wore every winter, and a silver bracelet I had given her on our first anniversary.
Leo sat beside me on the floor.
I showed him a picture of Goldi laughing at the beach.
"She hated sand," I said. "She complained all day, then refused to leave because the sunset was beautiful."
He smiled.
I showed him our wedding photograph.
"Was she funny?"
"Very."
"Did she sing?"
"Terribly."
"Do I look like her?"
For years, I had avoided looking for Goldi in him.
Now I saw her everywhere.
The curve of his smile.
The dimple in his left cheek.
The way one eyebrow rose when he was confused.
"Yes," I said. "You do."
At the bottom of the box was an old address book I had stored away.
I had told myself I would one day need it if I ever needed to find out where Goldi went.
I had just never brought myself to do it.
The hate and pain held me back as I wondered what good would come from finding a mother who had abandoned her son.
Now that I knew why she left, I had to find out what happened to her.
Goldi's mother's name and contacts were inside the address book.
Goldi and Rachel had been estranged for years.
I had met Rachel only twice, and Goldi rarely spoke about her.
I decided that now was the time to reach out.
I hesitated for nearly an hour before calling.
A woman answered.
"Is this Rachel?"
