Her first steps.
School pictures.
Volleyball awards.
College graduation.
Zane had duplicated them.
Why?
Because he had planned to give Rebecca a record of the daughter she lost.
Rebecca opened her box.
Inside were every private-investigator report.
Every false lead.
Every address.
Proof that Zane had truly searched.
Not enough.
Still real.
My box contained one item.
A video camera.
And a note:
I owe you one answer without asking you to forgive me.
We played the recording.
Zane appeared.
Thin.
Cancer already visible in his face.
“Claire.”
I cried immediately.
He continued:
“I have spent decades rehearsing explanations.”
“None of them are sufficient.”
Good.
Then:
“I did not tell you because I thought the truth would make you leave me.”
There.
Finally.
Not protection.
Not Emily.
Not Rebecca.
Him.
“I told myself I was protecting your motherhood.”
“Then Emily's childhood.”
“Then Rebecca's safety.”
“Then Catherine from reopening grief.”
“All of those things mattered.”
