Thomas looked toward the kitchen.
I followed his gaze.
The photograph was still on the table.
His face went pale.
“You found it.”
“Yes.”
He didn’t move.
I picked up the photograph.
“Why is my face circled?”
Thomas sat down heavily.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
I remained standing.
I had waited 50 years for an explanation.
I was not leaving without one.
Finally, Thomas looked up.
“My brother did that.”
I frowned.
“Your brother?”
“Daniel.”
I remembered the name vaguely.
Thomas had mentioned him once or twice when we were young.
“What does Daniel have to do with me?”
Thomas stared at the photograph.
“More than you ever knew.”
My stomach tightened.
He pointed toward the chair across from him.
“Sit down.”
I did.
Thomas folded his hands together.
“When I met you, I was in trouble.”
I waited.
“Not with the law,” he added. “Nothing like that.”
“Then what?”
“My family.”
Thomas swallowed.
He told me his father had controlled almost every part of his life.
His training.
His competitions.
His money.
Even the people he spent time with.
Thomas had been expected to work for the family business once his competition years ended.
There was also a woman his father wanted him to marry.
