I got home late. Belinda had retreated to her room, shaken. The house was quiet, even Bugsy was out. I searched for my old jewelry box and found it with a scrap of paper and a photo of Nina and me.
Scooter appeared and insisted I take him with me the next day. I reluctantly agreed.
We picked up Harold on the road. Scooter was excited about our “secret adventure.” During the drive, he kept probing, and we eventually arrived at Nina’s old house.
Harold recognized it. He confessed he once lived nearby and suspected the baby Nina had was his. Belinda quietly revealed, “She’s mine.”
Then she turned to me. “How do you know this address?”
“Nina wasn’t just a nanny. She was my childhood friend. We grew up in the same foster home.”
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