Eric reached the porch steps before Chloe blocked him.
My daughter stood barefoot in the bright July sun, still wearing the oversized shirt she slept in. Wind moved through her long brown hair as she stared at the man who had raised her.
“Where are you going, Dad?”
“Move, Chloe.”
“Not until you explain why my name is in that envelope.”
Eric looked toward the driveway.
Our car was parked beside the gate, but the keys were still on the kitchen counter.
He could run, yet he had nowhere to go.
I stepped onto the porch behind him.
“Come back inside.”
“Rachel, that woman is manipulating you.”
“That woman is apparently my sister.”
“You heard a recording. That doesn’t prove anything.”
Mia stood in the doorway holding the legal envelope against her chest.
“Vivian included DNA results.”
Eric’s shoulders dropped.
I had known my husband for 29 years. I recognized the exact moment he stopped searching for an innocent explanation and began calculating how much of the truth we already possessed.
