I rushed inside and tore through Mom’s closet until I found the blue box hidden beneath old blankets. Inside were photographs, letters, and envelopes. The first picture showed Mom as a little girl standing beside Victor. Her knees were scraped. His lip was split. On the back, in Mom’s handwriting, were the words: “Victor walked me home again.”

I opened the letter addressed to me. “Fiona, if you are reading this, then I wasn’t brave enough to tell you while I was alive. Victor was my brother before he was anything else. He packed my lunch, walked me to school, and gave me the good blanket when there was only one. Mark said Victor was dangerous. He told me that if I let Victor near you, people would ask whether I was fit to be your mother. I believed he could take you from me. So I made the worst bargain of my life. I kept Victor alive, but I let you think he was a stranger. Please don’t let Mark put him outside again. Love, Mom.”

When I returned to Mom’s house, Mark was already inside holding the blue box. I stopped in the doorway. “Put that down. His name is Victor. He’s Mom’s brother.” Aunt Linda gasped. “But you said he died, Mark!” Mark snapped back: “Because that was easier.” I lifted Mom’s letter. “She wrote everything down. You threatened her and used her poverty against her.” Mark grabbed his coat and walked out after Linda refused to support him.

I turned toward Victor. “Uncle Victor,” I said, pulling out a chair. “Come sit down.” I placed two bowls of soup on Mom’s chipped kitchen table. Slowly, he sat down, still holding the locket. For the first time in twenty years, Victor’s meal didn’t leave through the back door. It remained at the table. Right where family belonged.