Brielle stayed.

Because I asked security not to arrest her.

Not yet.

Grant stared at me.

“Are you sure?”

“No.”

It was the most honest answer I had.

Brielle slowly stood.

Her makeup had run down her face.

She looked at Clara.

Not with jealousy anymore.

With shame.

“I’m sorry.”

I said nothing.

She nodded.

“I know that doesn’t fix anything.”

“No.”

“I really thought—”

“Don’t.”

She stopped.

“For once in your life, don’t explain why you did something. Just live with the fact that you did it.”

She cried harder.

But nodded.

Then she left.

Thomas remained.

For several minutes, neither of us knew what to say.

Finally, he reached into his wallet and removed a faded photograph.

A young woman stood beside a man near a lake.

She was laughing.

Dark hair.

My eyes.

Thomas handed it to me.

“That’s Eleanor.”

My biological mother.