Inside was a black folder.
My hands shook as I opened it.
The first page contained a photograph.
Photographic & Digital Arts
Ryan.
Alive.
Older.
The picture had been taken in 2013.
Three years after his supposed death.
I couldn’t breathe.
“No.”
I touched his face in the photograph.
Ryan stood beside Christopher outside a building in New York.
He looked thinner.
Harder.
But unmistakably alive.
Tears blurred everything.
“You knew.”
Christopher said nothing.
“You knew he was alive.”
“Yes.”
I slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room.
Mrs. Alvarez appeared in the doorway.
