I looked at her.
“She didn't hate you.”
Catherine broke.
For thirty-two years, this woman had apparently carried a child's disappearance as a verdict on herself.
I kept reading.
Daniel did not show Catherine the letter.
He feared she would immediately search for Rebecca and expose both women to Owen.
Instead, he asked Zane for help.
Zane was twenty-nine then.
He worked in insurance investigations.
He had contacts.
Knew how to trace addresses.
License plates.
Employment records.
The night Daniel died, he was driving to meet Zane because someone had reported seeing Rebecca two towns away.
His crash was exactly what Zane had always told me.
Rain.
A truck crossing the centerline.
No conspiracy.
No sabotage.
Just tragedy.
Zane stopped at the wreck.
Held Daniel's hand.
And Daniel said:
If you find her, keep her safe until she's ready to come home.
Catherine was sobbing now.
“That's what he promised?”
