I kept my eyes on the road. Headed north toward Paris. The thought of selling the painting and reclaiming you, my one thought. My only thought.

It was a few weeks before I had accomplished it. Sold the painting!

I never said it was the actual Mona Lisa. I did not have to. The fact that I was the thief who had stolen it from the great Louvre Museum was more than enough proof.

The sale was conducted by a fence. I never met the buyers. They had met my price of five hundred thousand francs and that was all I cared about.

I steered the Berliet along dirt roads once again. Your grandmother was now living in her small home in Toulouse. A place I had once visited with Simone, your mother. It took two days from Paris to reach the outskirts of the town and it was late when I arrived. I found a room at an inn. Ate and drank alone. Spoke to no one.

That night I dreamed Simone and I lived in a grand apartment with you our beloved son. We were renowned artists. Feted and critically acclaimed.

I awoke with tears in my eyes. But I was happy. I believed the dream was an omen that I would get you back.

In the morning I took my time getting ready. I scrubbed my face. Shaved carefully. Trimmed my mustache. Parted my hair neatly into place with pomade. Put on the new clothes and shoes I had purchased in Paris. I needed to look my best. Needed to look prosperous. I tore the lining from my old coat where I had hidden the francs. Carefully tucked them into a money belt. Tied it around my waist. Covered it with a bulky woolen vest and buttoned it to my collar.

I drove from the inn along narrow country roads. My thoughts of Simone. Of our one visit here years ago. A beautiful summer day. Simone radiant in a white dress. Her blond hair loose around her face.

The house was how I remembered it. A tiny stone cottage with weathered yellow shutters. I brought the Berliet to a stop.

Your grandmother came out and stood on the porch. An infant was in her arms wrapped in a blanket. She seemed not to know me. Perhaps blinded by the bright winter sun or the expensive car or my fancy new clothes. Then she recognized me. Her face went hard. She asked what I wanted. I told her just to talk. To come into the house. I was careful to keep my voice calm and gentle.

She assessed me for a long time. The fancy car. The expensive clothes. It felt like an eternity before she said yes.

The house was messy and crowded. The crib filled half the living room. Wet diapers were draped over the backs of chairs.

I asked if I might have a look at you.

Marguerite hesitated, then rolled the blanket down to reveal your fine gold hair and long lashes surrounding eyes the same color as your mother’s. My heart swelled with so much love and sadness.