He nodded.
"You're right."
I took a shaky breath.
"I don't know what happens to us now."
Nigel wiped his eyes.
"Then we don't have to decide today."
For the first time since the surgery, he wasn't asking for forgiveness.
He wasn't offering another explanation.
He was simply allowing me to be angry.
And strangely, that was the first thing he'd done that made me feel like my husband was finally listening.
***
Three days later, we located June Bell.
She was thirty now and lived in a neighboring state.
A victim-support attorney contacted her through appropriate channels, and June agreed to speak with me.
We met by video call.
Seeing her face was overwhelming.
The little blond girl from the hospital photograph had grown into a woman with short hair and an expression that seemed both gentle and guarded.
"Mara?" she asked.
"Yes."
June smiled faintly.
"I remember your rabbit."
