For forty years, I had believed every word.
I asked Carol what Anna had to do with us and what exactly I was supposed to forgive. She only shook her head, refusing to explain before the nurse came in and told me she needed to rest.
Three days later, Carol died.
For two weeks after the funeral, I tried convincing myself that medication and exhaustion had confused her during those final hours. But every night, I heard the same two words in my head.
Find Anna.
Eventually, I began searching through old college contacts until a former classmate connected me with Diane, one of Anna’s closest friends. Diane refused to speak to me at first, but a week later she called back with enough information to lead me to Pittsburgh.
Three phone calls later, a woman answered.
“Hello?”
Even after four decades, I recognized her voice immediately.
“Anna? This is Walter.”
