Clara stepped back, shaking.
“Mom would have chosen you over the house.”
“I know that now.”
“No,” she said, tears spilling. “You should have known it then.”
Thomas bowed his head.
There was no answer that could make it right.
The wind rattled the old observatory windows. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called once and fell silent.
I looked at my father, this man returned from a grave he had not occupied.
“Why now?” I asked.
“Because I saw you in court,” he said. “I saw that you had stopped hiding. And because someone sent me a copy of a file from Crown Ridge two weeks ago.”
Daniel straightened. “Who?”
“I don’t know. It came with no name. Just a note.”
He reached into his coat and removed a folded envelope. The paper was worn, as though he had opened it many times.
Daniel took it, photographed it, then read aloud.
