I took a job bathing a paralyzed billionaire because my children were starving and I had no other choice. I told myself it was only work, only a…

Mr. Bennett watched me organize towels.

“You’ve never done this before.”

“No.”

“You’re nervous.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

 

“Please.”

That word stopped me.

Christopher Bennett did not say please.

I closed

the door.

He turned toward the  desk.

“Bottom drawer.”

“What?”

“Open it.”

I moved around the desk.

The drawer was locked.

He gave me the key from around his wrist.

Inside was a black folder.

My hands shook as I opened it.

The first page contained a  photograph.

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.