My hands didn’t feel steady as I reached for the box. It gave a soft creak as I opened it slowly. Inside was a worn leather notebook. I didn’t realize that what I was about to see would prove that the homeless man I met 27 years ago wasn’t who I thought he was.
I opened it carefully. Every page had dates, and next to each one, a short note. The first one stopped me cold.
*“Nov. 12, 1998 — Girl named Nora. Two babies. Gave me $10. Don’t forget this.”*
My vision blurred instantly, and I pressed my hand to my mouth. I turned the page. More entries about other people. Different years. Same pattern. But my name appeared more often than that of any other person.
*“Never forget Nora with the two babies.”*
*“Must find Nora with the girls.”*
*“I hope Nora and her kids are safe.”*
I couldn’t speak.
