“I'll leave now.”
Emily lived ninety minutes away.
She was twenty-nine.
A physical therapist.
Funny.
Stubborn.
She had Zane's habit of reading restaurant menus from the bottom upward.
Not genetic.
Learned.
She arrived just after seven.
Saw Catherine at the dining table.
Stopped.
“Who's this?”
I took Emily's hands.
“My name is Catherine.”
Catherine said softly.
“I knew your father.”
Emily frowned.
“Dad?”
I corrected gently.
“Zane.”
Her expression changed.
I had never called him anything else when speaking to her.
“Mom.”
I sat her down.
Then I told her.
Not every investigative detail.
Not all at once.
The essential truth.
I gave birth to a baby girl.
That baby died.
While I was unconscious, another young woman delivered a daughter.
Zane accepted temporary custody.
Records were altered.
I woke holding that baby.
Emily.
Her face emptied.
“No.”
I expected that.
“Sweetheart—”
“No.”
She stood.
“Dad wouldn't do that.”
I cried.
