A knock came at the door.
We both froze.
I wasn’t expecting anyone.
Neither was he.
Another knock.
Slow.
Deliberate.
I walked toward the door.
“Who is it?”
For a moment, there was no answer.
Then a woman’s voice spoke from the other side.
A voice older than the one on the recording.
But familiar.
A voice I had spent fifteen years imagining.
“Emma.”
My entire body went still.
Julian looked at me.
The color disappeared from his face.
Because he recognized the voice too.
The woman continued.
“I know you have questions.”
My hand moved toward the door.
My heart was pounding.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
A pause.
Then:
“I’m the woman who your father spent fifteen years trying to make you forget.”
My fingers touched the handle.
But before I opened it, Julian grabbed my arm gently.
Not controlling.
Not demanding.
Warning.
“Emma.”
I looked at him.
