“Yes.”
She stared at her dead husband's words written by another man.
“He was trying to protect me.”
“I think so.”
“He lied to me.”
“Yes.”
Both could be true.
Apparently my life was becoming full of that sentence.
I continued.
Three years later, I found Rebecca.
I did not find her because I was clever.
I found her because she walked into the same hospital where Claire was giving birth.
My vision blurred.
“No.”
Catherine gripped my arm.
“Keep reading.”
I did.
Zane had been downstairs getting coffee.
A young woman passed him in the corridor.
Thin.
Dark hair cut badly at the shoulders.
Nineteen years old.
Very pregnant.
He recognized her from Daniel's photographs.
Rebecca.
He called her name.
She ran.
Zane followed only as far as the stairwell.
He stopped when she screamed.
A social worker came.
Security nearly removed him.
Eventually Rebecca agreed to speak to him.
