Santana
I’m beyond exhausted tonight. All I feel is relieved when I get to the apartment. As usual, Connor is sitting in front of the kitchen counter with his computer in front of him. “Hey, Connor,” I rest my bag on top of the living room table. Connor nods his head but never looks up from the computer screen. Nothing ever changes. I think with an exasperated smirk. “What’s up?”
Connor shrugs. “Nothing.” That’s when I see the picture on the counter. “What are you doing, Connor?” Connor picks up the picture and points it in my direction. “I couldn’t stop thinking about this picture all day. I mean, it doesn’t make sense. Do I have a brother? Is this kid my brother?” He asks. From the set of his shoulder and tight lips, I can tell that he’s going through something. He seems frustrated yet
