Danielle unlocked the apartment and stepped aside. An elderly woman sat near the window folding the same towel over and over. The cheap floral perfume Marcus had smelled filled the room. When she saw Danielle, her face brightened. “There’s my girl,” she whispered. Danielle immediately began crying. “Marcus, this is Patricia,” she said. “My mother.” Marcus stared at her. Danielle’s family had always told him her mother died when she was six. The truth was that Patricia had developed serious mental-health problems years earlier, and Danielle’s grandparents had taken custody, cut contact, and eventually told Danielle that her mother was gone. Danielle discovered the truth only months ago, after an aunt finally gave her an old address.
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