Grace looked between the adults. “Mom?” she asked quietly. “Who’s Julian?”
I turned toward her, and for a moment everything softened.
How could I explain that the man whose name had haunted the last decade was more than a memory? How could I tell her that her father had been brave, gifted, determined—and headed toward tragedy?
I crouched in front of her. “Julian was someone very special,” I said. “He was compassionate. And he cared about others. He wanted to prevent something terrible from happening.”
Grace studied me. “Was he my dad?”
Silence swallowed the room.
I had imagined this conversation countless times. Sometimes I stayed calm. Sometimes I cried. But never had I pictured my parents sitting behind us, devastated by the same truth.
“Yes,” I whispered. “He was your dad.”
Grace looked down at our joined hands and tightened her grip. “Did he know about me?”
My throat tightened. “No,” I answered gently. “He vanished before I had the chance to tell him.”
