“Because I was there when everyone believed she disappeared.”
Lena looked at him.
“What are you talking about?”
Vincent walked toward the chair beside the window but didn’t sit.
He looked outside at the city lights.
“The night your father saved my life was the same night your family was torn apart.”
Lena’s hands tightened around the old photograph.
“My family?”
“Yes.”
She shook her head.
“No. My family was simple. My mother died when I was a baby. My father left before I could remember him. I grew up with my aunt. That’s what I was told.”
Vincent turned.
“And you believed it.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Because the people who raised you were trying to protect you.”
Lena laughed softly.
But there was no humor in it.
“Protect me from what? The truth?”
Vincent didn’t answer.
And that silence told her more than words could.
