Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Oh my God…”
Then Emma wiped her tears and whispered,
“Grandma, that’s not even the worst part. I saw who he takes this to.”
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Inside the briefcase were dozens of children’s drawings, several small stuffed animals, envelopes filled with handwritten notes, and a thick stack of hospital visitor badges.
Mom stared at everything without saying a word.
Emma was still crying.
“I followed him,” she whispered. “He didn’t go to another woman’s house.”
Mom slowly looked up.
“Then where did he go?”
Emma swallowed hard.
“To a children’s care center.”
For a few seconds, nobody moved.
Then Emma pulled one of the drawings from the briefcase.
It showed a little girl holding hands with a tall man.
At the bottom, in shaky handwriting, were the words:
Thank you for coming every Sunday.
Mom covered her mouth.
Emma explained that Mark had parked behind the center, changed into a simple sweater, and gone inside carrying the briefcase.
She had watched through the glass doors.
Children ran toward him.
Some hugged him.
Others handed him drawings.
And Mark, the man who always seemed so calm, had sat beside one little boy and cried while reading him a story.
