Take mine, Josh said, holding out his iPhone. My mom picked up after three rings. Josh? she said with a warm greeting in her voice. No, its me, mom. ...ia? Did you drive back to Joshs place, honey? No, no, he came here. Mom, I need to ask you something, but I have to tell you something else first. All right, my mom said slowly. I took a deep breath. I found some papers in the attic. Mom, were you adopted when you were a baby? My mom sounded surprised, this was clearly the last question she had. He was a creature of routine. She would hear his footsteps first; he'd make sure of it, purposely changing into a pair of heavy boots that would echo down the hall. The click of the lock, the slight squeak of the hinges as the door would open, the quiet click of it closing. He wouldn't said a word, never needed to. The sounds of his approach said it all. He would stand out of view, waiting silently as she fought and strained and shouted and pleaded and broke down crying, slumping against. More

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