He hesitated, not wanting to leave a paper trail from this illicit meeting, but then he looked at her again, small and pitiful in the office chair, and he thought, Who will ever know? Who will ever believe her? And so he smiled and pushed the photographs back toward her. She chose the one of Anton on the ski slopes. “Baby boy,” she murmured, still clenching the picture. “I’m counting the days before I see you again.”
