He opened it immediately.
That calmed me a little, but I was still ready to walk out.
Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.
Someone was coming toward the room.
I looked back at Professor Hayes.
He seemed nervous.
It was the first time I had ever seen him like that.
The door opened.
A woman in her early sixties stepped inside carrying an old brown box.
The moment she saw me, she froze.
Then she covered her mouth with one hand.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “You look exactly like her.”
I stared at her.
“Like who?”
Professor Hayes slowly sat down.
“Your mother.”
Everything inside me stopped.
My mother had died when I was five years old.
My father almost never spoke about her college years.
“You knew my mother?”
The woman stepped closer.
“I was her best friend.”
I looked at Professor Hayes.
He spoke softly.
“And I was her professor.”
I had no idea what to think.
The woman placed the box on the desk.
My name was written across the top.
EMILY.
“What is this?”
Professor Hayes took a deep breath.
