More than the mysterious woman in the green dress.
He knew something was wrong and was trying to repair it with a stuffed rabbit.
Then my phone vibrated against my leg.
For a moment, I almost ignored it.
When I finally looked, my hand turned cold.
Mark had sent me a photograph.
It showed the guest bedroom from the doorway.
Half of one wall was covered in unfinished brushstrokes—soft blues, warm browns, and the beginnings of a woman’s face.
A face with kind eyes I would have recognized anywhere.
My mother’s eyes.
Beneath the photo were four lines.
“I took this yesterday.”
“I wasn’t ready to show you yet.”
“Please go upstairs.”
“I love you.”
I opened the picture again.
The blue paint.
The silver stars.
The smudge on Leo’s thumb.
The locked guest room.
Nora’s paint-stained hands.
Every clue I had spent the past hour arranging into proof of betrayal suddenly reorganized itself into something entirely different.
