Not softly.
Not elegantly.
The sound came from somewhere ancient inside her.
Fifty years of grief emerging at once.
“I would have loved her.”
Thad looked toward the floor.
Lenora repeated it.
“I would have loved her.”
Then she looked at me.
“And I would have loved your mother.”
I took her hand.
She gripped mine.
Hard.
Thad suddenly pointed at Talia.
“This changes nothing today. Mother is alive. The trust doesn’t transfer until her death.”
“Correct,” Talia said.
His confidence returned slightly.
“And Coraly signed a divorce agreement.”
“A divorce complaint,” Talia corrected. “Not a settlement.”
“Whatever.”
“The marriage is over.”
“Hopefully.”
He looked confused.
Talia smiled.
“But your problems are only starting.”
The criminal investigation took nine months.
The divorce took eleven.
The emotional wreckage lasted longer.
Some mornings I woke believing I had imagined everything.
Then I would touch the scar along my abdomen.
And remember.
The hospital confirmed unauthorized access to donor-screening records.
A former laboratory contractor admitted Marisol had paid him through a consulting company.
The private investigator turned over his files.
Those files contained years of research.
My mother’s birth certificate.
Her adoption records.
My school photographs.
My employment history.
My address.
Photographs of me grocery shopping.
