I stared at my mother’s front door.
“Daniel?”
“His initials appear several times.”
“And my mother?”
Harris did not answer.
He did not need to.
I laughed, but it came out like a sob.
“She made pancakes there,” I said. “In that kitchen. She made pancakes for Noah and cut them into dinosaur shapes.”
Harris looked away.
For the first time, I saw anger in him.
Not professional concern.
Anger.
“They found something else,” he said.
“What?”
“In the basement room under the shed.”
I braced myself.
“A hospital bracelet,” he said. “From the day Noah was born.”
I turned slowly.
“What?”
“It had his name on it. And yours.”
The world narrowed to a single point.
“Why would that be there?”
Harris’s phone buzzed before he could answer. He read the message. His expression hardened.
“What is it?”
He looked at me.
“Daniel’s been found.”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Three miles from here. In a motel off I-35.”
I opened the car door.
Harris caught my arm.
“Emily, no.”
“I need to see him.”
“You don’t.”
“Yes,” I said, and there was something in my voice that made him release me. “I do.”
They took me to the station instead of the motel.
For two hours, they made me wait in a room with beige walls and a clock that ticked too loudly. Then Harris came in and told me Daniel had asked to speak with me.
“No,” he said before I could answer. “You are not obligated. You should not feel—”
“I’ll do it.”
He studied me.
“There will be glass between you. Officers in the room. You leave the second you want to.”
I nodded.
Daniel looked thinner than I remembered.
His blond hair was shaved close to his scalp. His face was bruised, but not badly. He wore an orange jumpsuit like it offended him. Even through the glass, he carried that same old arrogance, that same belief that the world had simply misunderstood him.
When he saw me, he smiled.
Not warmly.
Possessively.
“Em,” he said into the phone.
I sat across from him and picked up mine.
“Don’t call me that.”
His smile widened.
“You look tired.”
“You hurt our son.”
His expression flickered.
Then he leaned back.
“Our son,” he repeated. “That’s funny.”
