An image flashed suddenly into my mind. Crystal clear. A photograph of the Opéra Garnier, taken at twilight. From that moment onward, I was on the case. I wanted to find the author of the anonymous postcard my mother had received sixteen years earlier, whatever it took. The idea of finding the culprit became an obsession. I had to understand why that card had been sent. Why did the postcard come back to haunt me at that exact moment in my life? The thing that started it all was the incident at my daughter’s school. But looking back, I think there was something else, too. A more subtle
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