Chapter 8
His name was Peter Lang.
He had handled my father’s estate.
Our home purchase.
My marriage paperwork.
Everything.
When Detective Harris saw the video, his expression hardened.
“We need to bring him in carefully.”
“Carefully?” I snapped. “He helped hide my wife in a wall.”
“And if he helped, others may have too.”
That was the first time I understood how wide this could be.
Peter Lang had been at every important moment of my adult life after the accident.
He told me which papers to sign.
He told me Caroline loved me.
He told me grief confused memory.
He told me not to chase dreams about a brunette woman crying in rain.
Claire.
I had dreamed of Claire.
They had called it trauma.
By morning, the DNA results came.
Mia was my daughter.
Noah was my son.
I read the report three times.
Then I broke.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
I just sat in the hospital hallway and folded over myself like someone had cut the strings holding me up.
Ethan sat beside me.
“You found them,” he said.
“After years.”
“You found them.”
I wiped my face.
Inside the room, Lily was meeting Mia properly.
They stood apart at first.
Then Lily held out a cracker.
Mia smiled.
It was tiny.
It was everything.
Claire watched them with one hand over her heart.
When I entered, she looked at the paper in my hand.
“They’re yours,” she whispered.
“Our children,” I said.
Her face crumpled.
I wanted to hold her.
I didn’t know if I had the right.
Then Caroline was brought into the hospital for a court-ordered evaluation.
She saw us through the glass.
Saw Claire.
Saw the children.
Saw me holding the DNA report.
She smiled.
May you like
Then mouthed two words.
Ask Peter.
