I wiped my eyes.
Then I saw something that made my heart stop.
A photograph had been taped to one of the pages.
It showed two five-year-old children standing beside their father.
Caleb was grinning.
Lily was wearing the red dress.
And Julian was smiling at both of them.
On the back of the photograph, Julian had written:
My masterpiece.
I pressed my fingers against the picture.
And suddenly I understood the title.
To Julian, his children had been his masterpieces.
Not because of anything they accomplished.
Simply because they were his.
I kept reading.
And then I reached an entry dated only three months before Julian came to the hospital.
I found Caleb.
My breath caught.
I read the sentence again.
Then again.
Below it was an address.
And beneath the address, Julian had written:
I am afraid to knock.
Chapter 9 — The Son He Could Never Find
“Arthur,” I whispered.
